&. 


-  1   p  CALIF.  LWJURY.  LOi 


WHAT   HE   SAW   THERE    HELD   HIM    SPELLBOUND   IX    HIS    CHAIR 


THE  RICH 
LITTLE  POOR  BOY 


BY 

ELEANOR   GATES 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  POOR  LITTLE  RICH   GIRL," 

"THE  PLOW-WOMAN,"  "THE  BIOGRAPHY  OF  A 

PRAIRIE  GIRL,"  "ALEC  LLOYD,  COW-PUNCHER," 

"PIGGIE,"  ETC. 


D.    APPLETON   AND    COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  ::MCMXXII  -LONDON 


COPYRIGHT,    1922,    BY 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


i 

PSIHTED    IJf    THE    UMITED    STATES    OP    AMEKICA 


TO 
R  F.  M. 


2129816 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  WICKED  GIANT 1 

II.  PRIDE  AND  PENALTY 10 

III.  A  FEAST  AND  AN  EXCURSION  ....  17 

IV.  THE  FOUR  MILLIONAIRES 24 

V.  NEW  FRIENDS 36 

VI.  THE  DEAREST  WISH 52 

VII.  A  SERIOUS  STEP 60 

VIII.  MORE  TREASURES 68 

IX.  ONE-EYE 79 

X.  THE  SURPRISE 93 

XI.  THE  DISCOVERY 1°8 

XII.  A  PRODIGAL  PUFFED  UP 117 

XIII.  CHANGES 122 

XIV.  THE  HEAVEN  THAT  NEARLY  HAPPENED  .  138 
XV.  SCOUTS          144 

XVI.  HOPE  DEFERRED 153 

XVII.  MR.  PERKINS 160 

XVIII.  THE  ROOF 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX.    A  DIFFERENT  CK 183 

XX.    THE  HANDBOOK 190 

XXI.    THE  MEETING 201 

XXII.    Cis  TELLS  A  SECRET 212 

XXIII.  ROSES  THAT  TATTLED 219 

XXIV.  FATHER  PAT 233 

XXV.  AN  ALLY  CROSSES  A  SWORD  ....  241 

XXVI.    THE  END  OF  A  LONG  DAY 247 

XXVII.    ANOTHER  GIFT 255 

XXVIII.    ANOTHER  STORY 275 

XXIX,    REVOLT 290 

XXX.    DISASTER 300 

XXXI.    THE  VISION 318 

XXXII.    HELP 330 

XXXIII.  ONE-EYE  FIGHTS 345 

XXXIV.  SIR  ALGERNON        357 

XXXV.    GOOD-BYS 363 

XXXVI.    LEFT  BEHIND 373 

XXXVII.    UPS  AND  DOWNS 379 

XXXVIII.  ANOTHER  GOOD-BY 

XXXIX.    THE  LETTER 400 

XL.    "THE  TRUE  WAY" 407 


THE  RICH  LITTLE  POOR  BOY 

ELEANOR  GATES 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   WICKED   GIANT 

HE  was  ten.  But  his  clothes  were  forty.  And  it 
was  this  difference  in  the  matter  of  age,  and, 
consequently,  in  the  matter  of  size,  that  explained 
why,  at  first  sight,  he  did  not  show  how  thin-bodied  he 
was,  but  seemed,  instead,  to  be  rather  a  stout  little  boy. 
For  his  faded,  old  shirt,  with  its  wide  sleeves  lopped  off 
just  above  his  elbows,  and  his  patched  trousers,  short- 
ened by  the  scissors  to  knee  length,  were  both  many  times 
too  large  for  him,  so  that  they  lay  upon  him,  front,  back 
and  sides,  in  great,  overlapping  pleats  that  were,  in  turn, 
bunched  into  heavy  tucks;  and  his  kitchen  apron,  worn 
with  the  waistband  about  his  neck,  the  strings  being  tied 
at  the  back,  also  lent  him — if  viewed  from  the  front — an 
appearance  both  of  width  and  weight. 

But  he  was  not  stout.  His  frame  was  not  even  fairly 
well  covered.  From  the  apron  hem  in  front,  the  two 
legs  that  led  down  to  the  floor  were  scarcely  larger  than 
lead  piping.  From  the  raveling  ends  of  his  short  sleeves 
were  thrust  out  arms  that  matched  the  legs — bony,  skinny 
arms,  pallid  as  to  color,  and  with  hardly  any  more  shape 
to  them  than  there  was  to  the  poker  of  the  cookstove. 
But  while  the  lead-pipe  legs  ended  in  the  sort  of  hard, 
splinter-defying  boy's  feet  that  could  be  met  with  on  any 
stretch  of  pavement  outside  the  tenement,  the  bony  arms 
did  not  end  in  boyish  hands.  The  hands  that  hung,  finger- 
tips touching  halfway  to  the  knee,  were  far  too  big  for  a 
boy  of  ten.  They  were  red,  too,  as  if  all  the  blood  of-  his 
thin  shoulders  had  run  down  his  arms  and  through  his 

1 


2  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

wrists,  and  stayed  there.  And  besides  being  red,  fingers, 
palms  and  backs  were  lined  and  crinkled.  They  looked 
like  the  hands  of  a  hard-working,  grown  girl.  That  was 
because  they  knew  dish  washing  and  sweeping,  bed  making 
and  cooking,  scrubbing  and  laundering. 

But  his  head  was  all  that  a  boy's  head  should  be,  show- 
ing plenty  of  brain  room  above  his  ears.  While  it  was 
still  actually — and  naturally — large  for  his  body,  it  looked 
much  too  large;  not  only  because  the  body  that  did  its 
bidding  was  undersized,  but  because  his  hair,  bright  and 
abundant,  added  to  his  head  a  striking  circumference. 

He  hated  his  hair,  chiefly  because  it  had  a  hint  of  wave 
in  it,  but  also  because  its  color  was  yellow,  with  even  a 
touch  of  green !  He  had  been  taunted  about  it — by  boys. 
But  what  was  worse,  women  and  girls  had  admired  it,  and 
laid  hands  upon  it — or  wanted  to.  And  small  wonder; 
for  in  thiclf  undulations  it  stood  away  from  forehead  and 
temples  as  if  blown  by  the  wind.  A  part  it  had  not,  nor 
any  sort  of  neat  arrangement.  He  saw  strictly  to  that. 
Whenever  his  left  hand  was  not  busy,  which  was  less  often 
than  he  could  wish,  he  tugged  at  his  locks,  so  that  they^ 
reared  themelves  on  end,  especially  at  the  very  top,  where 
they  leaned  in  various  directions  and  displayed  what  ap- 
peared to  be  several  cowlicks.  At  every  quarter  that  shin- 
ing mop  was  uneven,  because  badly  cut  by  Big  Tom  Bar- 
ber, his  foster  father,  whose  name  belied  his  tonsorial 
ability. 

Below  that  wild  shock  of  colorful  hair  was  a  face  that, 
when  clean,  could  claim  attention  on  its  own  account.  It 
was  a  square-jawed  little  face  over  which  the  red  was 
quick  to  come,  though,  unhappily,  it  did  not  stay.  Its 
center  was  a  nose  that  seemed  a  trifle  small  in  proportion 
to  its  surroundings.  But  the  top  line  of  it  was  straight, 
and  the  nostrils  were  well  carved,  and  had  a  way  of  lifting 
and  swelling  whenever  his  interest  was  caught. 


THE    WICKED    GIANT  3 

Under  them  was  a  mouth  that  was  wide  yet  noticeably 
beautiful — not  with  the  soft  beauty  of  a  baby's  mouth,  or 
a  girl's,  and  not  because  it  could  boast  even  a  touch  of 
scarlet.  It  had  been  cut  as  carefull}'  as  his  nose,  the  lips 
full  yet  firm,  their  lines  drawn  delicately,  but  with  strength. 
It  was  sensitive,  with  a  little  quirk  at  each  corner  whicli 
betrayed  its  humor.  Above  all  things,  its  expression  was 
sweet. 

Colorless  as  were  his  cheeks  and  lips,  nevertheless  he  did 
not  seem  a  pale  boy,  this  because  his  brows  were  a  misty 
yellow-white,  and  his  thick  lashes  flaxen;  while  his  eyes 
were  an  indescribable  mixture  of  glowing  gray  and  blue 
plentifully  flecked  with  yellow.  Perfectly  adjusted  were 
these  straight-looking  eyes,  and  set  far  apart.  By  turns 
they  were  quick,  and  bold,  and  open,  and  full  of  eager  in- 
quiry ;  or  they  were  thoughtfully  half  covered  by  their 
heavy  lids,  very  still,  and  far  sighted.  Aifld  when  he 
laughed,  what  with  the  shine  of  his  hair  and  brows  and 
light  lashes,  and  the  flash  of  his  eyes  and  his  teeth,  the 
effect  was  as  if  sunlight  were  upon  his  face — though  the 
sun  so  seldom  shone  upon  him  that  he  had  not  one  boyish 
freckle. 

Such  was  Johnnie  Smith. 

Just  now  he  was  looking  smaller  and  less  sunlit  than 
usual.  This  was  because  Big  Tom  bulked  in  front  of  him, 
delivering  the  final  orders  for  the  day  before  going  down 
the  three  flights  of  stairs,  out  into  the  brick-paved  area, 
thence  through  a  dank,  ground-floor  hall  which  bored  its 
way  from  end  to  end  of  another  tenement,  and  into  the 
crowded  East  Side  street,  and  so  to  his  work  on  the  docks. 

Barber  was  a  huge-shouldered,  long-armed  slouch  of  a 
man,  with  a  close-cropped  head  (flat  at  the  back)  upon 
which  great  hairy  ears  stood  out  like  growths.  His  eyes 
were  bloodshot  and  bulging,  the  left  with  an  elusive  cast  in 
it  that  showed  only  now  and  then,  when  it  testified  to  the 


4  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Idnk  in  his  brain.  His  nose,  uneven  in  its  downward  trend, 
was  so  fat  and  wide  and  heavy  that  it  fairly  sprawled  upon 
his  face;  and  its  cavernous,  black  nostrils  made  it  seem 
to  possess  something  that,  to  Johnnie,  was  like  a  person- 
ality— as  if  it  were  a  queer  sort  of  snakish  thing,  carefully 
watched  over  by  the  bulging,  bloodshot  eyes. 

For  Barber's  nose  had  the  power  of  moving  itself  as 
Johnnie  had  seen  no  other  nose  move.  Slowly  and  steadily 
it  went  up  and  down  whenever  Barber  ate  or  talked — as 
even  Johnnie's  small,  straight  nose  would  often  do.  But 
whenever  Big  Tom  laughed — sneeringly  or  boastfully  or 
in  ugly  triumph — the  nose  would  make  a  sudden,  sidewise 
twist. 

But  something  besides  its  power  to  move  made  it  seem  a 
live  and  separate  thing:  the  longshoreman  troubled  him- 
self to  shave  only  of  a  Sunday  morning,  when,  with  all  the 
stiff,  dark  growth  cleared  away  to  right  and  left — for 
Barber's  beard  grew  almost  to  his  eyes — his  nose,  though 
bent  and  purplish,  was  fairly  like  a  nose.  But  with  Mon- 
day, again  the  nose  took  on  that  personality ;  and  seemed 
to  be  crouching  and  writhing  at  the  center  of  its  mat  of 
stubble. 

But  Barber's  mouth  was  his  worst  feature,  with  its 
great,  pushed-out  underlip,  which  showed  his  complete 
satisfaction  in  himself.  So  big  was  that  lip  that  it  seemed 
to  have  acquired  its  size  through  the  robbing  of  the  chin 
just  beneath — for  Big  Tom  had  little  enough  chin. 

But  his  neck  was  massive,  and  an  angry  red,  sprinkled 
with  long,  wiry  hairs.  It  fastened  his  flat-backed  head  to 
a  body  that  was  like  a  gorilla's,  thick  and  wide  and  humped. 
And  his  arms  gave  an  added  touch  of  the  animal,  for  they 
were  so  long  that  his  great  palms  reached  to  his  knees ;  and 
so  sprung  out  at  the  shoulder,  and  so  curved  in  at  the 
wrist,  that  when  they  met  at  the  fingers  they  formed  a  pair 


THE    WICKED    GIANT  5 

of  mammoth,  muscled  tongs — tongs  that  gave  Barber  his 
boasted  value  in  and  out  of  ships. 

His  legs  were  big,  too.  As  he  stood  over  Johnnie  now, 
it  was  plain  to  see  where  the  boy's  shaggy  trousers  had 
come  from  (the  grotesquely  big  shirt  as  well).  Each  of 
those  legs  was  almost  as  big  as  Johnnie's  skimped  little 
body.  And  they  turned  up  at  the  bottom  in  great  bro- 
ganned  feet  that  Barber  was  fond  of  using  as  instruments 
of  punishment.  More  than  once  Johnnie  had  felt  those 
feet.  And  if  he  could  ever  have  decided  how  pain  was  to 
be  inflicted  upon  him,  he  would  always  have  chosen  the 
long,  thick,  pliant  strap  that  belted  in,  and  held  together, 
his  baggy  clothes.  For  the  strap  left  colorful  tracks  that 
stung  only  in  the  making;  but  the  mark  of  one  of  those 
feet  went  black,  and  ached  to  the  bone. 

Johnnie  hated  Big  Tom  worse  than  he  hated  his  own 
yellow  hair.  But  he  feared  him,  too.  And  ,jnow  listened 
attentively  as  the  longshoreman,  his  cutty  pipe  smoking  in 
one  knotted  fist,  his  dinner  pail  in  the  other,  his  cargo  hook 
slung  to  his  burly  neck,  glowered  down  upon  him. 

"Git  your  dishes  done,"  admonished  Barber.  "Don't  let 
the  mush  dry  on  'em,  and  draw  the  flies." 

There  being  no  question  to  answer,  Johnnie  said  noth- 
ing. Final  orders  of  a  morning  were  the  usual  thing.  If 
he  was  careful  not  to  reply,  if  he  waited,  taking  care  where 
he  looked,  the  longshoreman  would  have  his  say  out  and 
go — pressed  by  time.  So  the  boy,  almost  holding  his 
breath,  fastened  his  eyes  upon  a  patch  of  wall  where  the 
smudged  plaster  was  broken  and  some  laths  showed.  And 
not  a  muscle  of  him  moved,  except  one  big  toe,  which  he 
curled  and  uncurled  across  a  crack  in  the  rough,  worn 
kitchen  floor. 

"Git  everything  else  clone,  too,"  went  on  Big  Tom. 
"You  don't  scrub  till  to-morrow,  so  the  day's  clear  for 
stringin'  beads,  or  makin'  vi'lets.  And  don't  let  me  come 


6  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

home  t'night  and  find  no  hot  supper.  You  hear  me."  He 
chewed  once  or  twice — on  nothing. 

Johnnie  continued  silent,  counting  the  laths — from  the 
top  down,  from  the  bottom  up.  But  his  toe  moved  a  shade 
faster.  For  there  was  a  note  of  rising  irritation  in  that 
You  hear  me. 

"I  say,  you  hear  me!"  repeated  Big  Tom  (replies  al- 
ways angered  him:  this  time  silence  had).  He  thrust  the 
whole  of  the  short  stem  of  his  "nose-warmer"  into  his 
mouth.  Then,  with  the  free  hand,  he  seized  Johnnie  by 
one  thin  shoulder  and  gave  him  a  rough,  forward  jerk. 

"Yes,"  acknowledged  the  boy,  realizing  too  late  that  this 
was  one  occasion  when  speech  would  have  been  safest.  He 
still  concentrated  on  the  laths,  hoping  that  matters  would 
go  no  further. 

But  that  single  jerk,  far  from  satisfying  Barber's  ran- 
cor, only  a^ded  to  it — precisely  as  if  he  had  tasted  some- 
thing which  had  whetted  his  appetite  for  more.  He  gripped 
Johnnie's  shoulder  again,  this  time  driving  him  back  a 
step.  "Now,  no  sass  !"  he  warned. 

The  blood  came  rushing  to  Johnnie's  face,  darkening  it 
so  that  the  misty  yellow-white  brows  stood  out  grotesquely. 
And  his  chest  began  to  heave.  He  loathed  the  touch  of 
Barber's  hand.  He  despised  the  daily  orders  that  only 
turned  him  against  his  work.  But  most  of  all  he  shrank 
from  the  indignity  of  being  jerked  when  it  was  wholly  un- 
deserved. 

Big  Tom  marked  the  boy's  rising  color.  And  the  sight 
spurred  his  ill-humor.  "What  do  you  do  for  your  keep  ?" 
he  demanded.  "Stop  pullin'  your  hair !"  He  struck  John- 
nie's hand  down  with  a  sweaty  palm  that  touched  the  boy's 
forehead.  "Pullin'  and  hawlin'  all  the  time,  but  don't  earn 
the  grub  y'  swallow !" 

Just  as  one  jerk  always  led  to  another,  so  one  blow  was 
usually  the  prelude  to  a  thrashing.  Johnnie  saw  that  he 


THE    WICKED    GIANT  7 

must  stop  the  thing  right  there ;  must  have  instant  help  in 
diverting1  Barber.  Taking  a  quick,  deep  breath,  he  sounded 
his  call  for  aid — a  loud,  croupy  cough. 

It  was  instantly  answered.  The  door  beside  the  cook- 
stove  swung  wide,  and  Cis  came  hurrying  in  from  the  tiny, 
windoxyless  closet — this  her  "own  room" — where  she  had 
been  listening  anxiously.  "Oh,  Mr.  Barber,"  she  began, 
trying  to  keep  her  young  voice  from  trembling,  "this  week 
can  I  have  enough  out  of  my  wages  for  some  more  shoe- 
whitening?" 

There  were  several  ways  in  which  to  take  Big  Tom's 
mind  from  any  subject.  The  surest  of  these  was  to  bring 
up  a  question  of  spending.  And  now,  answering  to  his 
stepdaughter's  subterfuge  as  promptly  as  if  he  were  a 
mechanism  that  had  been  worked  by  a  key,  he  turned  from 
glowering  down  upon  Johnnie  to  scowl  at  her. 

"More?"  he  demanded  harshly.  9 

Her  blue  eyes  met  his  look  timidly.  Out  of  the  wisdom 
of  her  sixteen-year-old  policy,  she  habitually  avoided  him, 
slipping  away  of  a  morning  to  her  work  at  the  pasteboard- 
box  factory  without  a  word;  slipping  back  as  quietly  in 
the  late  afternoon;  keeping  out  of  his  sight  and  hearing 
whenever  that  was  possible;  and  speaking  to  him  seldom. 

Cis  looked  at  every  one  timidly.  She  avoided  Big  Tom 
not  only  because  it  was  wise  to  do  so  but  because  she  was 
naturally  shy  and  retiring,  and  avoided  people  in  general. 
She  had  a  quaint  face  (framed  by  straight,  light-brown 
hair)  that  ended  in  a  pointed,  pink  chin.  Habitually  she 
wore  that  expression  of  mingled  understanding  and  re- 
sponsibility common  to  all  children  who  have  brought  up 
other  children.  So  that  she  seemed  older  than  she  was. 
But  her  figure  was  that  of  a  child — slim,  frail,  and  still 
lacking  a  woman's  shapeliness,  notwithstanding  the  fact 
that  it  had  long  carried  the  burdens  of  a  grown-up. 


8  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Facing  her  stepfather  now,  she  did  not  falter.  "Yes, 
please,"  she  answered.  "The  last,  I  got  a  month  ago." 

His  pipe  was  in  his  fist  again,  and  he  was  chewing  wrath- 
fully.  "I'll  see,"  he  growled.  And  waved  her  to  go. 

From  the  hall  door,  she  glanced  back  at  Johnnie.  Not 
only  had  she  and  he  a  system  of  communication  by  means 
of  coughs,  humming,  whistles,  taps  and  other  audible 
sounds ;  and  a  second  system  (just  as  good)  that  depended 
upon  wall  marks,  soap-inscribed  hieroglyphics  on  the  bit 
of  mirror  in  Cis's  room,  or  the  arrangement  of  dishes  on 
the  kitchen  table,  and  pots  and  pans  on  the  stove,  but  they 
had  a  well-worked-out  silent  system — by  means  of  brow- 
raisings,  eye  and  lip  movements,  head  tippings  and  swift 
finger  pointings — that  was  as  perfect  and  satisfactory  as 
the  dumb  conversation  of  two  colts.  Such  a  system  was 
necessary;  for  whenever  the  great  figure  of  Barber  came 
wedging  itjelf  through  the  hall  door,  and  his  presence,  like 
a  blighting  shadow,  darkened  the  already  dark  little  flat, 
then  the  two  young  voices  had  to  fall  instantly  silent,  since 
Barber  would  brook  no  noise — least  of  all  whispering. 

Now  by  the  quick,  sidewise  tip  of  her  small,  black-hatted 
head,  Cis  inquired  of  Johnnie  whether  she  should  stay  or 
go.  And  Johnnie,  with  what  amounted  to  an  upward  fling 
of  his  eyelids,  answered  that  she  need  not  stay.  With 
Barber's  cutty  once  more  in  his  right  fist,  and  with  his 
mind  veered  to  a  fresh  subject,  Johnnie  knew  the  crisis  was 
past. 

With  a  swift  glance  of  affection  and  sympathy,  not  un- 
mixed with  triumph  over  the  success  of  her  interruption, 
Cis  fluttered  out — leaving  the  door  open  at  Barber's  back. 

The  longshoreman  turned  heavily  as  if  to  follow  her, 
but  came  about  with  a  final  caution,  lowering  his  voice  to 
cheat  any  busy  ear  in  the  other  flat  on  the  same  floor. 
"Don't  you  neglect  the  old  man,"  he  charged.  "Face — 
hair — fix  him  up — you,  know." 


9 

At  the  stove,  an  untidy  heap  of  theadbare,  brown  blan- 
ket, in  a  wheel  chair  suddenly  stirred.  In  several  ways  old 
Grandpa  was  like  a  big  baby,  but  particularly  in  this  habit 
of  waking  promptly  whenever  he  was  mentioned.  "Is  that 
you,  Mother?"  he  asked  in  his  thin,  old  voice.  (He  meant 
Big  Tom's  mother,  dead  now  these  many  years.) 

A  swift  change  came  over  Barber's  face.  His  great  un- 
derlip  drew  in,  what  chin  he  had  was  thrust  out  with  some- 
thing like  concern,  and  his  eyes  rolled  away  from  Johnnie 
to  the  whimpering  old  man.  "It's  all  right,  Pa,"  he  said 
soothingly.  "It's  all  right.  Jus'  you  sleep."  Then  he 
turned,  tiptoed  through  the  door,  and  shut  it  after  him 
softly. 

Johnnie  did  not  move — except  to  shift  his  look  from  the 
laths  to  the  door  knob,  and  take  up  his  toeing  of  the  crack 
at  his  feet.  The  door  itself  moved,  and  rattled  gently,  as 
the  area  door  three  flights  below  was  opened  by^%Cis,  and  a 
gust  from  the  narrow  court  was  sent  up  the  stairs  of  the 
tenement,  as  a  bubble  forces  its  way  surfaceward  through 
water,  to  suck  at  the  Barber  door. 

But  Big  Tom  was  not  yet  gone.  And  a  moment  later, 
the  boy  was  looking  at  the  outer  knob,  now  in  the  clutch 
of  several  great,  grimy,  calloused  fingers. 

"Let  your  hair  alone!"  ordered  the  longshoreman.  Then 
the  door  closed  finally,  and  the  stairs  complained  with  loud 
creakings  as  Barber  descended  them. 

Johnnie  waited  till  the  door  in  front  of  him  moved  and 
rattled  again,  then — 


CHAPTER   II 

PRIDE  AND  PENALTY 

HIS  toe  stopped  working  across  the  crack  in  the 
floor.  His  left  hand  forsook  his  tousled  hair 
and  fell  to  his  side.  His  eyes  narrowed,  and  his 
chin  came  up.  Then  his  lips  began  to  move,  noiselessly. 
"I'll  pay  him  up  for  that !"  he  promised.  "I'll  make  him 
wish  he  didn't  shove  me !  This  time,  I'll  think  a*  awful  bad 
think  about  him !  I'll  think  the  worst  think  I  can!  I'll — 
I'll "  « 

He  paused  to  decide.  He  had  many  "thinks"  for  the 
punishing  of  Big  Tom,  each  of  them  ending  in  the  desertion 
of  that  gentleman,  who  was  always  left  helplessly  grovel- 
ing and  pleading  while  Johnnie  made  a  joyous,  triumphant 
departure.  Which  of  all  those  revenges  would  he  select 
this  morning?  Would  he  go,  after  handing  the  longshore- 
man over  to  the  harshest  patrolman  in  New  York?  or  would 
it  be  a  doctor  who  would  remain  behind  in  the  flat  with  the 
tyrant,  assuring  Johnnie,  as  the  latter  sauntered  out  of 
the  kitchen  for  the  very  last  time,  that  no  skill  on  earth 
could  entirely  mend  the  hurts  which  he  had  so  bravely  in- 
flicted upon  his  groaning  foster  father?  or  would  he  set; 
sail  grandly  from  the  Battery  for  some  port  at  least  a 
million  miles  away,  his  last  view  of  the  metropolis  including 
in  its  foreground,  along  with  a  brass  band  and  many  dig- 
nitaries of  the  city,  the  kneeling  shape  of  a  wretched  dock- 
worker  who  had  repented  of  his  meanness  too  late? 

Suddenly  Johnnie  caught  his  breath,  his  eyes  dilated, 

10 


PRIDE    AND    PENALTY  11 

his  fingers  began  to  play  against  his  palms.  He  had  de- 
cided. And  in  that  same  instant,  a  change  came  over  him — 
complete,  satisfactory,  astonishing. 

Now,  instead  of  the  ragged,  little  boy  upon  whom  Big 
Tom  had  glowered  down — a  meek  boy,  subdued,  even  crest- 
fallen, whose  eyes  were  lowered,  and  whose  lashes  blinked 
fearsomely,  he  was  quite  a  good  deal  taller,  boldly  erect, 
proud  in  his  poise,  light  on  his  neatly  shod  feet,  confident 
and  easy  in  his  manner,  with  a  charming  smile  to  right  and 
left  as  ringing  cheers  went  up  for  him  while  he  awaited  the 
lessening  of  the  pleasant  tribute,  his  composure  really  quite 
splendid,  his  hands  stuffed  into  the  pocket  of  his  absolutely 
new,  light-gray  suit,  which  had  knee  pants. 

A  change  had  also  taken  place  in  the  Barber  kitchen. 
Now  the  walls  were  freshly  papered  in  a  regal  green-and- 
gold  pattern  which,  at  the  floor  line,  met  a  thick,  red  car- 
pet. Red  velvet  curtains  hung  at  either  side  of  ^Jie  window. 
Splendid,  fat  chairs  were  set  carelessly  here  and  there ;  and 
a  marble-topped  table  behind  Johnnie  was  piled  with  a 
variety  of  delectable  dishes,  including  several  pies  oozing 
juice. 

And  the  crowd  that  pressed  up  to  the  hall  door!  It 
was  worthy  of  his  pride,  for  it  was  a  notable  gathering. 
In  it  was  no  tenant  of  the  building,  no  neighbor  from  other, 
near-by  flats,  and  not  a  single  member  of  that  certain 
rough  gang  which  haunted  the  area,  the  dark  halls  leading 
into  it,  and  all  the  blocks  round  about. 

Indeed,  no!  Even  in  his  "thinks"  Johnnie  was  most 
careful  regarding  the  selection  of  his  companions,  his  so- 
cial trend  being  ever  upward.  And  he  was  never  small 
about  any  crowd  of  his,  but  always  had  everybody  he  could 
remember  who  was  anybody — a  riot  of  famous  people.  On 
this  occasion  he  was  reaching  into  truly  exclusive  circles. 
Naturally,  then,  this  was  a  well-dressed  assemblage,  strik- 
ingly equipped  with  silk  hats  (there  were  no  ladies  pres- 


12  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ent)  and  gold-headed  canes;  and  every  gentleman  in  the 
gathering  wore  patent-leather  shoes,  and  a  vest  that  did 
not  match  his  coat.  All  were  smart  and  shaven  and 
wealthy.  In  their  lead,  uniformed  in  khaki,  and  wearing 
the  friendliest  look  possible  to  a  young  man  who  is  cheer- 
ing, was  His  Royal  Highness,  the  Prince  of  Wales. 

Like  all  the  others  in  that  wildly  enthusiastic  gathering, 
the  young  heir  apparent  was  turned  toward  Johnnie  as 
toward  a  hero.  And  small  wonder.  For  there,  between 
the  distinguished  crowd  and  the  boy,  lying  prone  upon  the 
red  carpet,  in  his  oldest  clothes,  and  unshaven,  was  none 
other  than  Big  Tom  Barber,  felled  by  the  single,  over- 
whelming blow  that  Johnnie  had  just  given  him,  his  nose 
bleeding  (not  too  much,  however)  and  the  breath  clean 
knocked  out  of  him. 

Now  the  shouting  died  away,  and  Johnnie  addressed  the 
admiring  throng.  But  his  lips  moved  without  even  a  whis- 
per. "I  made  up  my  mind  a  long  time  ago,"  he  began,  "to 
give  Tom  Barber  a  good  thrashin'.  So  this  morning,  I 
done  it." 

Despite  his  ungrammatical  conclusion,  the  speech  called 
forth  the  resounding  hurrahs  of  the  Prince  and  his  gentle- 
men, and  once  more  Johnnie  had  to  wait,  striving  to  appear 
properly  modest,  and  twirling  a  gold  watch  chain  all  of 
heavy  links.  But  he  could  not  keep  his  nostrils  from  swell- 
ing, or  his  eyes  from  flashing.  And  his  chest  heaved. 

It  was  now  that  he  made  Cis  one  of  his  audience,  dress- 
ing her  in  a  becoming  pink  gown  (her  favorite  color).  Old 
Grandpa  was  standing  beside  her,  no  longer  feeble  and 
chair  bound,  but  handsomely  overcoated  and  hatted,  and 
looking  as  formidable  as  any  policeman.  These  two, 
naturally  enough,  had  only  proud  glances  for  the  young 
champion  of  the  hour. 

But  Johnnie's  task  of  subduing  Barber  was  not  finished. 
The  brave  boy  could  see  that  the  big  longshoreman  was 


PRIDE   AND   PENALTY  13 

making  as  if  to  rise.  Johnnie  could  still  feel  the  touch  of 
Big  Tom's  perspiring  hand  on  his  forehead,  and  the  pinch 
of  those  cruel  fingers  on  his  shoulder.  Taking  a  forward 
step,  he  gave  Barber's  shoulder  a  wrenching  jerk,  then 
thrust  the  longshoreman  backward  by  a  spanking  blow 
of  the  open  palm  full  upon  that  big,  ugly,  bristling  face. 

Again  Barber  fell  prostrate.  He  was  purple  with  mor- 
tification, and  leered  up  at  Johnnie  murderously. 

"Ha!  ha!  Y'  got  enough?"  Johnnie  inquired.  He  was 
all  of  a  glow  now,  and  his  face  fairly  shone.  But  he  was 
not  done  with  the  tyrant.  A  sense  of  long-outraged  justice 
made  him  hand  Barber  the  big,  black,  three-legged,  iron 
kettle  that  belonged  on  the  back  of  the  cookstove.  There 
was  some  cold  oatmeal  in  the  bottom  of  the  kettle,  and 
Johnnie  also  handed  the  longshoreman  a  spoon — with  a 
glance  toward  the  Prince,  who  seemed  awed  by  Johnnie's 
complete  mastery  of  the  enemy.  "Here  !"  the  be j  directed, 
giving  the  pot  a  light  kick  with  a  new  shoe  (which  was 
brown).  "Go  ahead  and  eat.  Eat  ev'ry  bite  of  it.  It's 
got  kerosene  in  it!" 

Now  Barber  got  to  his  knees  imploringly.  "Oh,  idon't 
make  me  eat  it !"  he  begged.  "Oh,  don't,  Johnnie !  Please !" 

"Y'  made  me  eat  it  once,"  said  Johnnie  quietly.  "And 
y*  need  a  lesson,  Tom  Barber,  and  I'm  givin'  y'  one." 

Barber  choked  down  the  bad-tasting  food.  But  there 
was  no  taunting  of  him.  Johnnie  kept  a  dignified  silence — 
as  did  also  the  Prince  and  the  gentlemen.  But  when  the 
last  spoonful  was  swallowed,  and  Barber  was  cowering  be- 
side the  empty  kettle,  the  boy  felt  called  upon  to  go  still 
further,  and  make  away  finally  with  that  strap  which  was 
the  symbol  of  all  he  hated — that  held  up  and  together  the 
too-large  clothes  which  had  so  long  mortified  his  pride ; 
that  stood  for  the  physical  pain  dealt  out  to  him  by  Big 
Tom  if  he  so  much  as  slighted  a  bit  of  his  girl's  work. 

The  strap  was  around  him  now,  even  over  that  new  suit. 


14  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

It  circled  him  like  a  snake.  He  took  it  off,  his  lips  work- 
ing in  another  splendid  speech.  "And  I  don't  wear  it  ever 
again,"  he  declared,  looking  down  at  Barber.  "Do  y'  un- 
iderstand  that?"  He  flicked  a  big  arm  with  the  leather, 
though  not  hard  enough  to  give  pain. 

"Yes,"  faltered  the  longshoreman,  shrinking. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  y'  understand  it,"  returned  Johnnie. 
"And  now  you  just  watch  me  for  on-n-ne  second!  You 
won't  never  lay  this  strap  across  me  again !" 

He  whipped  out  a  long,  sharp,  silver-handled  bread- 
knife.  Then  turning  to  the  table,  he  laid  the  strap  upon 
the  beautiful  marble;  and,  in  sight  of  all,  cut  it  away  to 
the  very  buckle — inch  by  inch ! 

"Now!"  he  cried,  as  he  scattered  the  pieces  upon  the 
carpet. 

The  punishment  was  complete ;  his  triumph  nothing  less 
than  perfe<^.  And  it  occurred  to  him  now  that  there  was 
particular  gratification  in  having  present  this  morning  His 
Royal  Highness.  "Mister  Prince,"  he  said,  "I'm  awful 
tickled  you  was  here !" 

The  Prince  expressed  himself  as  being  equally  pleased. 
"Mister  Smith,"  he  returned,  "I  don't  know  as  I  ever  seen 
a  boy  that  could  hit  like  you!  Why,  Mister  Smith,  it's 
•wonderful!  How  do  y'  do  it?"  He  shook  Johnnie's  hand 
warmly. 

"Well,  I  guess  I'm  like  David,  Mister  Prince,"  Johnnie 
explained  modestly.  "0'  course  you  know  David — and  his 
friend,  Mister  Goli'th? — Oh,  y'  don't?  Y'  mean  y'  ain't 
never  met  neither  one?  Oh,  gee!  I'm  surprised!  But 
that's  'cause  y'  don't  know  Mrs.  Kukor,  upstairs.  They're 
both  friends  of  hers.  Well,  I'll  ask  'em  down." 

An  upturned  face  and  a  beckoning  arm  accomplished 
the  invitation,  whereupon  there  entered  at  once  the  cham- 
pion Philistine  and  that  youth  who  was  ruddy  and  of  a 
fair  countenance.  And  after  a  deal  of  hand-shaking  all 


PRIDE   AND   PENALTY  15 

around,  Johnnie  told  the  tale  of  that  certain  celebrated 
fight — told  it  as  one  who  had  witnessed  the  whole  affair. 
He  turned  his  face  from  side  to  side  as  he  talked,  gesticu- 
lating with  easy  grace. 

"And  now  I  guess  we're  ready  t'  start,  ain't  we  ?"  he  ob- 
served as  he  concluded.  "David,  would  you  and  your 
friend  like  t'  come  along? — Only  Big  Tom,  he's  got  t'  stay 
behind,  'cause ' 

At  the  stove,  the  untidy  heap  of  brown  blanket  in  the 
wheel  chair  stirred  again.  Out  of  the  faded  folds  a  small 
head,  blanched  and  bewhiskered,  reared  itself  weakly. 
"Johnnie,"  quavered  old  Grandpa.  "Johnnie!  Milk!" 

The  boy's  lips  ceased  to  frame  words.  His  right  arm 
fell  to  his  side ;  the  left  went  up  again  to  resume  that  tug- 
ging at  his  hair.  He  swayed  slightly,  shifting  his  weight, 
and  his  big  toe  began  once  more  to  curl  and  uncurl.  Then, 
as  fancy  was  displaced  by  reality,  as  dreaming,  gave  place 
to  fact,  Barber  disappeared  from  the  floor.  The  silk- 
hatted  gentlemen  with  the  gold  canes  went,  too — along  with 
the  gallant  young  English  Prince,  that  other  Prince  who 
was  of  Israel,  and  a  tall  person  with  a  sore,  red  bump  on 
his  forehead.  The  gold-and-green  walls  faded ;  so  did  the 
carpet,  the  curtains,  and  that  light-gray  suit  (which  was 
precisely  like  the  one  Johnnie  had  worn  when  he  first  came 
to  the  Barber  flat — except,  of  course,  that  it  was  larger). 
The  marble-topped  table  and  the  fat  chairs  folded  them- 
selves up  out  of  sight.  And  all  those  delicious  fruit  pies 
dissolved  into  thin  air. 

But  one  thing  did  not  go :  A  sense  of  satisfaction.  Hav- 
ing met  his  enemy  before  the  world,  and  conquered  him; 
having  spent  his  own  anger  and  loathing,  and  revenged  the 
other's  hated  touch,  his  gray  eyes  held  a  pleased,  proud 
look.  Once  more  in  the  soiled  big  shirt  and  trousers,  with 
the  strap  coiled  about  his  middle,  he  could  put  Barber 


16  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

aside  for  the  day — not  brood  about  him,  harboring  ill-will, 
nor  sulk  and  fret. 

Now  he  was  ready  for  "thinks"  of  a  different  sort — ad- 
ventures that  were  wholly  delightful. 

A  feeling  of  joy  surged  through  him.  Ahead  lay  fully 
nine  unhampered  hours.  He  pivoted  like  a  top.  His  arms 
tossed.  Then,  like  a  spring  from  which  a  weight  has  been 
lifted,  like  a  cork  flying  out  of  a  charged  bottle,  he  did  a 
high,  leaping  hop-skip  straight  into  the  air. 

"Wow-ow-ow-ow-ow !"  he  sang  out  full-throatedly. 
"Rr-r-r-r!  ree-ee-ee!" — and  explosively,  "Brt!  brt!  brt! 
ling!" 


CHAPTER    III 
A  FEAST  AND  AN  EXCURSION 

NINE  free  hours ! — or,  to  be  exact,  eight,  since  the 
best  part  of  one  would  have  to  be  devoted  to  the 
flat  in  order  to  avoid  trouble.  However,  Johnnie 
never  did  his  work  any  sooner  than  he  actually  had  to ;  and 
that  hour  of  labor  should  be,  as  always,  the  last  of  the  nine, 
this  for  the  sake  of  obeying  Big  Tom  at  the  latest  possible 
time,  of  circumventing  his  wishes,  and  thwarting  and  out- 
witting him,  just  to  the  degree  that  safety  penritted. 

So !  For  eight  hours  Johnnie  would  live  his  dreams. 
And,  oh,  the  things  he  could  do !  the  things ! 

But  before  he  could  begin  the  real  business  of  the  day, 
he  had  to  put  Grandpa  to  sleep  again.  This  was  best  ac- 
complished through  tiring  the  little  old  man  with  a  long, 
exciting  train  trip.  "Oo,  Grandpa!"  cried  Johnnie. 
"Who  wants  to  go  ride-ride  on  the  cars?" 

"Cars !  cars !  cars !"  shrilled  Grandpa,  his  white-lashed, 
milky-blue  eyes  dancing.  At  once,  impatiently,  he  fell  to 
tapping  on  the  floor  with  his  cane,  while,  using  his  other 
hand,  he  swung  the  wheel  chair  in  a  circle.  Across  his 
shrunken  chest,  from  one  side  of  the  chair  to  the  other,  was 
a  strand  of  rope  that  kept  him  from  tumbling  out  of  his 
scat.  To  hasten  the  promised  departure,  he  began  to 
throw  his  weight  alternately  against  the  rope  and  the  back 
of  the  chair,  like  an  excited  baby. 

"Wait  now!"  admonished  Johnnie.  He  took  off  his 
apron  and  wadded  it  into  a  ball.  Then  with  force  and 

17 


18  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

fervor  he  sent  the  ball  whizzing  under  the  sink.  "Wherell 
•we  go?"  he  cried.  The  bottoms  of  his  trouser  legs  hung 
about  his  knees  in  a  fringe.  Now  as  he  did  another  hop- 
skip  into  the  air,  not  so  much  because  of  animal  spirits  as 
through  sheer  mental  relief,  all  that  fringe  whipped  and 
snapped.  "Pick  out  a  place,  Grandpa !"  he  bade.  "Where 
do  y'  want  t'  go  ?" 

"Go !  go  !  go !"  chanted  the  old  man.  Not  so  long  ago 
he  had  been  able  to  call  up  a  score  of  destinations — most 
of  them  names  that  had  to  do  with  the  Civil  War  cam- 
paigns which,  in  the  end,  had  impaired  his  brain  and  cost 
him  the  use  of  his  legs. 

Johnnie  proceeded  to  prompt.  "Gettysburg?"  he  asked ; 
"Shiloh?  Chick'mauga?  City  of  Washington  ?  Niaggery 
Falls?" 

"Niaggery  Falls !"  cried  Grandpa,  catching,  as  he  al- 
ways did,^t  whatever  point  was  named  last.  "Where's  my 
hat?  Where's  my  hat?" 

He  never  remembered  how  to  find  his  hat,  though  it  al- 
ways hung  conveniently  on  the  back  of  the  wheel  chair. 
It  was  the  dark,  broad-brimmed,  cord-encircled  head  cov- 
ering of  the  Grand  Army  man.  As  he  turned  his  head  in 
a  worried  search  for  it,  Johnnie  set  the  hat  atop  the  white 
hair. 

Johnnie  had  named  Niagara  last  because  he  liked  best 
to  visit  that  Wonder  of  Nature.  He  did  not  know  why — 
except  that  the  name  seemed  curiously  familiar  to  him.  It 
was  familiar  to  Grandpa,  too,  in  a  dim  way,  for  he  had 
visited  "the  Falls"  on  his  wedding  trip.  And  every  repe- 
tition of  the  imaginary  journey  thrilled  him. 

"Chug !  chug !  chug !"  he  began,  the  moment  he  felt  the 
hat.  His  imitation  of  a  starting  engine  was  so  genuine 
that  it  shook  his  spare  frame  from  his  head  to  his  slippered 
feet.  "Chug!  chug!  chug!" 

But  Johnnie  was  not  ready  to  set  off.     The  little,  old 


A    FEAST    AND    AN    EXCURSION  19 

soldier  had  not  yet  eaten  his  breakfast,  and  if  he  did  not 
eat  he  would  not  go  to  sleep  promptly  at  the  conclusion  of 
the  trip,  nor  stay  asleep. 

"Oh,  Grandpa,"  began  the  boy  coaxingly,  as  he  hastily 
dished  up  a  saucer  of  oatmeal,  another  saucer  of  prunes, 
and  poured  a  glass  of  milk,  "before  we  start  we  got  t'  eat 
our  grand  banquet !  It's  a  long  way  to  Niaggery,  y'  know. 
So  here  we  both  are  at  the  Grand  Central  Station !"  (The 
Station  was  situated  on  or  about  the  center  of  the  kitchen.) 
"Station!"  echoed  Grandpa.  "Chug!  chug!  chug!" 
"No,  Grandpa," — Johnnie's  manner  of  handling  the  old 
man  was  comically  mature,  almost  motherly;  his  tone, 
while  soothing,  was  quietly  firm,  as  if  he  were  speaking  to 
a  younger  child.  "See !  Here's  the  fine  table !" 

Up  to  this  table,  still  strewn  with  unwashed  dishes  and 
whatever  remained  of  breakfast,  the  pair  of  travelers  drew. 
Then  Johnnie,  with  the  air  and  the  lavishness'Jbf  a  mil- 
lionaire, ordered  an  elaborate  and  tasty  breakfast  from  a 
waiter  the  like  of  whom  was  not  to  be  found  anywhere  save 
in  his  own  imagination. 

This  waiter's  name  was  Buckle,  and  he  had  served  John- 
nie faithfully  for  the  past  several  years.  In  all  ways  he 
was  an  extraordinary  person  of  his  kind,  being  able  to  fur- 
nish anything  that  Grandpa  and  Johnnie  might  call  for, 
whether  meat,  vegetable  or  fruit,  at  any  time  of  the  year, 
this  without  regard  to  such  small  matters  as  seasons,  the 
difficulties  of  importing,  adverse  hunting  laws,  and  the  like. 
Which  meant  that  Grandpa  could  always  have  his  venison, 
and  Johnnie  his  choice  of  fruits — all  from  the  deft  hand 
of  a  man  quick  and  soft-footed,  and  full  of  low  bows,  who 
wore  a  suit  of  red  velvet  fairly  loaded  with  gold  bands  and 
brass  buttons. 

"Mister  Buckle,"  began  Johnnie  (for  such  an  august 
creature  in  red  velvet  could  not  be  addressed  save  with  a 
courteous  title),  "a  turkey,  please,  an*  some  lemon  pie,  an* 


20  THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

some  strawberry  ice  cream  an'  fifteen  pounds  of  your  best 
candy." 

"Candy !  candy !  candy !"  clamored  Grandpa,  impatiently 
beating  on  the  table  with  his  spoon  like  a  baby. 

Buckle  was  wonderful.  As  Johnnie's  orders  swept  him 
hither  and  thither,  how  he  transformed  the  place,  laying 
down  the  articles  called  for  upon  a  crisp  red  tablecloth 
that  was  a  glorious  full  brother  to  one  that  belonged  to 
the  little  Jewish  lady  who  lived  upstairs.  But  Grandpa 
took  little  interest  in  Buckle,  though  he  picked  eagerly 
enough  at  the  viands  which  Johnnie  urged  upon  him. 

"Here's  your  turkey,"  pointed  out  the  boy,  giving  the 
old  man  his  first  spoonful  of  cereal.  "My  goodness,  did  y* 
ever  see  such  a  drumstick!  Now  another! — 'cause,  gee! 
you'll  be  starved  'fore  ever  we  git  t'  Niaggery!  Mm!  but 
ain't  that  turkey  fine?" 

"Mm !  *  Mm !"  agreed  the  veteran. 

"Mister  Buckle,  I'll  take  some  soda  and  some  popcorn," 
went  on  Johnnie,  spooning  out  his  own  saucer  of  oatmeal. 
"And  some  apples  and  oranges,  and  bananas  and  cherries 
and  grapes." 

Fruit  was  what  he  always  ordered.  How  almost  ter- 
ribly at  times  he  yearned  for  it !  For  the  only  fruit  that 
ever  Barber  brought  home  was  prunes.  Johnnie  washed 
them  and  put  them  over  the  fire  to  boil  with  a  regularity 
due  to  his  fear  of  the  strap.  But  he  hated  them.  (Like- 
wise he  pitied  them — because  they  seemed  such  little,  old 
creatures,  and  grew  in  that  shriveled  way  which  reminded 
him  somehow  of  Grandpa.)  What  he  longed  for  was  freshi 
fruit,  which  he  got  only  at  long  intervals,  this  when  Cis 
carried  home  to  him  a  few  cherries  in  the  bottom  of  a  paper 
bag,  or  part  of  an  apple  which  was  generously  specked, 
and  so  well  on  its  way  to  ruin,  or  shared  the  half  of  a 
lemon,  which  the  two  sucked,  turn  about,  all  such  being  the 
gifts  of  a  certain  old  gentleman  with  a  wooden  leg  who 


'A  FEAST   AND   AN   EXCURSION  21 

carried  on  a  thriving  trade  in  the  vicinity  of  the  nearest 
public  school.  But  the  periods  between  the  contributions 
were  so  long,  and  the  amount  of  fruit  consumed  was  so 
small,  that  Johnnie  was  never  even  a  quarter  satisfied — 
except  at  one  of  his  Barmecide  feasts. 

Grandpa's  oatmeal  and  milk  finished,  Johnnie  urged  the 
prunes  upon  him.  "Oo,  lookee  at  the  watermelon!"  he 
cried.  "The  dandy,  big  watermelon ! — on  ice!" 

The  mere  word  "watermelon"  always  stirred  a  memory 
in  old  Grandpa's  brain,  as  if  he  could  almost  recall  when 
he,  a  young  soldier  of  the  North,  had  taken  his  fill  of  sweet, 
black-seeded,  carnation-tinted  pulp  at  some  plantation  in 
the  harried  South.  And  now  he  ate  greedily  till  the  last 
prune  was  gone,  when  Johnnie  had  Buckle  throw  all  of  the 
green  rinds  into  the  sink.  (It  was  this  attention  to  detail 
which  invested  his  games  with  reality.)  Then,  the  repast 
finished,  Grandpa  fretted  to  be  away,  whirling  his  chair 
and  whimpering. 

Johnnie  had  eaten  through  a  perfect  menu  only  as  an 
unfillable  boy  can.  So  he  dismissed  Buckle  with  a  thou- 
sand-dollar bill,  and  the  two  travelers  were  off,  Johnnie 
making  a  great  deal  of  jolly  noise  as  he  fulfilled  the  duties 
of  engineer,  engine  and  conductor,  Grandpa  having  noth- 
ing to  do  but  be  an  appreciative  passenger. 

To  the  old  man  the  dish  cupboard,  which  was  Carthage, 
in  "York  State,"  never  lost  its  interest,  he  having  lived  in 
that  town  long  years  ago,  before  he  marched  out  of  it  with 
a  company  of  men  who  were  bound  for  the  War.  But  the 
morris  chair  with  its  greasy  cushions,  which  was  the  capi- 
tal, Albany,  and  the  cookstove,  which  was  very  properly 
Pittsburgh  (though  the  surface  of  the  earth  had  to  be 
wrenched  about  in  order  to  put  Pittsburgh  after  Albany 
on  the  way  to  "the  Falls"),  both  of  these  estimable  cities 
also  won  their  share  of  attention,  the  special  train  bearing 
the  pair  making  a  stop  at  each,  though  the  passengers, 


22  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

boy  and  man,  longed  quite  naturally  for  a  sight  of  the 
Marvel  of  Waters  which  awaited  them  at  the  end  of  the 
line. 

But  Pittsburgh  left  behind,  and  Buffalo  (the  woodbox) 
all  but  grinding  under  their  wheels,  neither  Grandpa  nor 
Johnnie  could  withstand  longer  the  temptation  to  push 
forward  to  wonderful  Niagara  itself.  With  loud  hissings, 
toot-toots,  and  guttural  announcements  on  the  part  of  the 
conductor,  the  wheel  chair  drew  up  with  a  twisting  flourish 
— at  the  sink. 

And  now  came  the  most  exciting  moment  of  all.  For 
here  imagination  had  to  be  called  upon  least.  This  Niag- 
ara was  liquid.  And  held  back  its  vast  flood — or  poured 
it — just  as  Johnnie  chose.  He  proceeded  to  have  it  pour. 
With  Grandpa's  cane,  he  rapped  peremptorily  twice — 
then  once — on  the  big  lead  pipe  which,  leading  through  the 
ceiling  as  a  vent  to  Mrs.  Kukor's  sink,  debouched  in  turn 
into  the  Barber  sink. 

A  moment's  wait.  Then  some  one  began  to  cross  the 
floor  overhead  with  an  astonishing  sound  of  rocking  yet 
with  little  advance — in  the  way  that  a  walking  doll  goes 
forward.  This  was  Mrs.  Kukor  herself,  who  was  mother- 
hood incarnate  to  Johnnie;  motherhood  boiled  down  into 
an  unalloyed  lump ;  the  pure  essence  of  it  in  a  fat,  round 
package.  The  little  Jewish  lady  never  objected  to  this 
regular  morning  interruption  of  her  work.  And  so  the 
next  moment,  the  miracle  happened.  Lake  Erie  began  to 
empty  itself;  and  with  splashes,  gurgles  and  spurts,  the 
cataract  descended  upon  the  pots  and  pans  heaped  in  the 
Barber  sink. 

The  downpour  was  greeted  by  a  treble  chorus  of  delight 

from  the  tourists.    "Oh,  Grandpa !"  cried  Johnnie,  jump- 

•  ing  up  and  down.     "Ain't  it  fine!     Ain't  it  fine!"     And 

"Fine!"  chimed  in  the  old  man,  swaying  himself  against 

his  breast  rope.     "Fine!     Fine!" 


A   FEAST   AND   AN   EXCURSION  23 

One  long  half-minute  Niagara  poured — before  the  ad- 
miring gaze  of  the  two  in  the  special.  Then  the  great 
stream  became  dammed,  the  rush  of  its  waters  ceased,  ex- 
cept for  a  weak  trickle,  and  the  ceiling  gave  down  the 
sound  of  a  rocking  step  bound  away,  followed  by  the 
squeaking  of  a  chair.  Mrs.  Kukor  was  back  at  work. 

The  train  returned  silently  to  Pittsburgh,  the  Grand 
[Army  hat  was  taken  off  and  hung  in  its  place,  the  blanket 
was  pulled  up  about  Grandpa's  shoulders,  and  this  one  of 
the  pair  of  travelers  was  left  to  take  his  rest.  Comfort- 
able and  swift  as  the  whole  journey  was,  nevertheless  the 
feeble,  old  soldier  was  tired.  His  pale  blue  eyes  were  rov- 
ing wearily ;  the  chair  at  a  standstill,  down  came  their  lids, 
and  his  head  tipped  sidewise. 

He  looked  as  much  like  a  small,  gray  monkey  as  his 
strapping  son  resembled  a  gorilla.  As  Johnnie  tucked  the 
blanket  about  the  thin  old  neck,  Grandpa  wat  already 
breathing  regularly,  the  while  he  made  the  facial  grimaces 
of  a  new-born  child. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  FOUR  MILLIONAIRES 

JOHNNIE  always  started  his  own  daily  program  witK 
a  taste  of  fresh  air.     He  cared  less  for  this  way  of 
spending  his  first  fifteen  free  minutes  than  for  many 
another.     But  as  Cis,  with  her  riper  wisdom,  had  pointed 
out,  a  short  airing  was  necessary  to  a  boy  who  had  no  red 
in  his  cheeks,  and  too  much  blue  at  his  temples — not  to 
mention  a  pinched  look  about  the  nose.     Johnnie  regu- 
larly took  a  quarter  of  an  hour  out  of  doors. 

He  to&c  it  from  the  sill  of  the  kitchen  window — which 
was  the  only  window  in  the  Barber  flat. 

This  sill  was  breast-high  from  the  kitchen  floor,  John- 
nie not  being  tall  for  his  age.  But  having  shoved  up  the 
lower  sash  with  the  aid  of  the  broom  handle,  he  did  not 
climb  to  seat  himself  upon  the  ledge.  For  there  was  no 
iron  fire  escape  outside;  the  nearest  one  came  down  the 
wall  of  the  building  to  the  kitchen  window  of  the  Gamboni 
family,  to  the  left.  And  so  Johnnie  denied  himself  a  perch 
on  his  sill — a  dangerous  position,  as  both  Mrs.  Kukor  and 
Cis  pointed  out  to  him. 

Their  warnings  were  unnecessary.  He  could  easily 
realize  what  a  slip  of  the  hand  might  mean:  a  plunge 
through  space  to  the  brick  paving  far  below;  and  there 
an  instant  and  horrible  end.  His  picture  of  it  was  enough 
to  guard  him  against  accident.  He  contented  himself  with 
laying  his  body  across  the  sill,  with  the  longer  and  heavier 
portion  of  his  small  anatomy  balanced  securely  against  a 
shorter  and  lighter  upper  portion. 

24 


THE    FOUR    MILLIONAIRES  25 

He  achieved  this  position  and  held  it  untiringly  by  the 
aid  of  the  old  rope  coil.  This  coil  was  a  relic  of  those  dis- 
tant times  when  there  was  no  fire  escape  even  outside  the 
kitchen  window  of  the  Gambonis,  and  the  landlord  pro- 
vided every  tenant  with  this  cruder  means  of  flying  the 
building.  The  rope  hung  on  a  large  hook  just  under  the 
Barber  window,  and  was  like  a  hard,  smudged  wheel,  so 
completely  had  the  years  and  the  climate  of  the  kitchen 
colored  and  stiffened  it.  And  Johnnie's  weight  was  not 
enough  to  elongate  its  set  curves. 

It  was  a  handy  affair.  Using  it  as  a  stepping-place, 
and  pulling  himself  up  by  his  hands,  he  brought  the  lower 
end  of  his  breastbone  into  contact  with  the  sill.  Resting 
thus,  upon  his  midriff,  he  was  thoroughly  comfortable,  due 
to  the  fact  that  Big  Tom's  shirt  and  trousers  thoroughly 
padded  his  ribby  front.  Then  he  swelled  his  nostrils  with 
his  intaking  of  air,  and  his  back  heaved  and  fen,  so  that 
he  was  for  all  the  world  like  some  sort  of  a  giant  lizard, 
sunning  itself  on  a  rock. 

Against  the  dingy  black-red  of  the  old  wall,  his  yellow 
head  stood  forth  as  gaudily  as  a  flower.  The  flower  nod- 
ded, too,  as  if  moved  by  the  breeze  that  was  wreathing  the 
smoke  over  all  the  roofs.  For  Johnnie  was  taking  a  gen- 
eral survey  of  the  scenery. 

The  Barber  window  looked  north,  and  in  front  of  it  were 
the  rear  windows  of  tenements  that  faced  on  a  street. 
There  was  a  fire  escape  at  every  other  one  of  these  win- 
dows— the  usual  spidery  affair  of  black-painted  iron, 
clinging  vinelike  to  the  bricks.  And  over  each  escape  were 
draped  garments  of  every  hue  and  kind,  some  freshly 
washed,  and  drying;  others  airing.  Mingling  with  the 
apparel  were  blankets,  quilts,  mattresses,  pillows  and 
babies. 

Somehow  Johnnie  did  not  like  the  view.  He  glanced 
"down  into  the  gloomy  area,  where  a  lean  and  untidy  cat 


26  THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

was  prowling,  and  where  there  sounded,  echoing,  the  un- 
idistinguishable  harangue  of  the  fretful  Italian  janitress. 

Now  Johnnie's  general  survey  was  done.  He  always 
made  it  short,  wasting  less  than  one  minute  in  looking 
down  or  around.  It  was  beauty  that  drew  him — beauty 
and  whatever  else  could  start  up  in  his  mind  the  experi- 
ences he  most  liked.  His  face  upturned,  one  hand  flung 
across  his  brows  to  shield  his  eyes,  for  the  light  outside  the 
sill  seemed  dazzling  after  the  semidark  of  the  flat,  he 
scanned  first  the  opposite  roof  edges,  a  whole  story  higher 
than  he,  where  sparrows  were  alighting,  and  where  smoke 
plumes  curled  like  veils  of  gossamer;  next  he  scanned  the 
sky. 

Above  the  roofline  of  the  tenements  was  a  great,  chang- 
ing patch  which  he  called  his  own,  and  which  he  found  fas- 
cinating. And  not  only  for  what  it  actually  showed  him, 
which  was  splendid  enough,  but  for  the  eternal  promise  of 
it.  At  any  moment,  what  might  not  come  slipping  into 
sight ! 

What  he  longed  most  to  catch  sight  of  was — a  stork. 
Those  babies  across  on  the  fire  escapes,  storks  had  brought 
them  (which  was  the  main  reason  why  all  the  families  kept 
bedclothes  out  on  the  barred  shelves;  a  quilt  or  a  pillow 
made  a  soft  place  on  which  to  leave  a  new  baby).  A  stork 
had  brought  Cis — she  had  had  her  own  mother's  word  for 
it  many  times  before  that  mother  died.  A  stork  had 
brought  Johnnie,  too — and  Grandpa,  Mrs.  Kukor,  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  the  janitress;  in  fact,  every  one. 

"I  wonder  what  kind  of  a  stork  was  it  that  fetched  Big 
Tom!"  Johnnie  once  had  exclaimed,  straightway  visioning 
a  black  and  forbidding  bird. 

Storks,  according  to  Cis,  were  as  bashful  as  they  were 
clever,  and  did  not  come  into  sight  if  any  one  was  watch- 
ing. They  were  big  enough  to  be  seen  easily,  however,  as 


THE    FOUR    MILLIONAIRES  27 

proven  by  this :  frequently  one  of  them  came  floating  down 
with  twins ! 

"Down  from  where?"  Johnnie  had  wanted  to  know,  lik- 
ing to  have  his  knowledge  definite. 

"From  their  nests,  silly,'  Cis  had  returned.  But  had 
been  forced  to  confess  that  she  did  not  know  where  storks 
built  their  nests,  "In  Central  Park,  I  guess,"  she  had 
added.  (Central  Park  was  as  good  a  place  as  any.) 

"Oh,  you  guess !"  Johnnie  had  returned,  disgusted. 

He  had  never  given  up  his  watching,  nor  his  hope  of 
some  day  seeing  a  big  baby-bringer.  He  searched  his  sky 
patch  now.  But  could  see  only  the  darting  sparrows  and, 
farther  away,  some  larger  birds  that  wheeled  gracefully 
above  the  city.  Many  of  these  were  seagulls.  The  others 
were  pigeons,  and  Cis  had  told  him  that  people  ate  them. 
This  fact  hurt  him,  and  he  tried  not  to  think  about  it,  but 
only  of  their  flight.  He  envied  them  their  freecfcm  in  the 
vast  milkiness,  their  power  to  penetrate  it.  Beyond  the 
large  birds,  and  surely  as  far  away  as  the  sun  ever  was, 
some  great,  puffy  clouds  of  a  blinding  white  were  shoulder- 
ing one  another  as  they  sailed  northward. 

Out  of  the  wisdom  possessed  by  one  of  her  advanced  age, 
Cis  had  told  him  several  astonishing  things  about  this  field 
of  sky.  What  Barber  considered  a  troublesome,  meddle- 
some, wasteful  school  law  was,  at  bottom,  responsible  for 
her  knowing  much  that  was  true  and  considerable  which 
Johnnie  held  was  not.  And  one  of  her  unbelievable  state- 
ments (this  from  his  standpoint)  was  to  the  effect  that  his 
sky  patch  was  constantly  changing, — yes,  as  frequently 
as  every  minute — because  the  earth  was  steadily  moving. 
And  she  had  added  the  horrifying  declaration  that  this 
movement  was  in  the  nature  of  a  spin,  so  that,  at  night,  the 
whole  of  New  York  City,  including  skyscrapers,  bridges, 
water,  streets,  vehicles  and  population,  was  upside  down 
in  the  air! 


28  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"Aw,  it  ain't  so!"  he  cried,  though  Cis  reminded  him 
(and  rather  sternly,  for  her)  that  in  doing  so  he  was  ques- 
tioning a  teacher  who  drew  a  magnificent  salary  for 
spreading  just  such  statements.  "And  if  they  pay  her  all 
that  money,  they're  crazy !  Don't  y'  know  that  if  we  was 
t'  come  upside  down,  the  chimnies'd  fall  off  all  the  build- 
in's?  and  East  River'd  sptti?" 

Cis  countered  with  a  demonstration.  She  filled  Big 
Tom's  lunch  pail  with  water  and  whirled  it,  losing  not  a 
drop. 

But  he  went  further,  and  proved  her  wrong — that  is  so 
far  as  the  upside-down  of  it  was  concerned.  He  did  this 
by  staying  awake  the  whole  of  the  following  night  and  not- 
ing that  the  city  stayed  right-side  up  throughout  the  long 
hours.  Cis,  poor  girl,  had  been  pitifully  misinformed. 

But  the  changing  of  the  sky  he  believed.  He  believed  it 
because  a<  night  there  was  the  kind  of  sky  overhead  that 
had  stars  in  it;  also,  sometimes,  a  moon.  But  by  dawn, 
the  starred  sky  was  gone — been  left  behind,  or  got  slipped 
to  one  side;  in  its  place  was  a  plain,  unpatterned  stretch 
of  Heaven  which,  in  due  time,  was  once  more  succeeded  by 
a  firmament  adorned  and  a-t winkle. 

When  Cis  returned  home  one  evening  and  declared  that 
the  forewoman  at  the  factory  had  asserted  that  there  were 
stars  everywhere  in  the  sky  by  day  as  well  as  by  night,  and 
no  plain  spots  at  all  anywhere;  and,  further,  that  if  any- 
body were  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  well  he — or  she — could 
see  stars  in  the  sky  in  the  daytime,  Johnnie  had  fairly 
hooted  at  the  tale.  And  had  finally  won  Cis  over  to  his 
side. 

Her  last  doubt  fle3  wKen,  Having  gone  down  into  a  dark 
corner  of  the  area  the  Sunday  following,  she  found,  as  did 
he,  that  no  stars  were  to  be  seen  anywhere.  After  that 
she  believed  in  his  theory  of  starless  sky-spots ;  starless, 
but  not  plain.  For  in  addition  to  the  sun,  many  other 


THE    FOUR    MILLIONAIRES  29 

things  lent  interest  to  that  field  of  blue — clouds,  rain, 
sleet,  snow,  and  fog,  all  in  their  time  or  season.  Also,  be- 
sides the  birds,  he  occasionally  glimpsed  whole  sheets  of 
newspapers  as  they  ambitiously  voyaged  above  the  house 
tops.  And  how  he  longed  for  them  to  blow  against  his 
own  window,  so  that  he  might  read  them  through  and 
through ! 

Sometimes  he  saw  a  flying  machine.  The  first  one  that 
had  floated  across  his  sky  had  very  nearly  been  the  death 
of  him.  Because,  forgetting  danger  in  his  rapturous  ex- 
citement, he  had  leaned  out  dangerouslv,  and  might  have 
fallen  if  he  had  not  suddenly  thought  of  Grandpa,  and 
thrown  himself  backward  into  the  kitchen  to  fetch  the 
wheel  chair.  The  little  old  soldier  had  only  been  mildly 
diverted  by  the  sight.  Johnnie,  however,  had  viewed  the 
passing  of  the  biplane  in  amaze,  though  later  on  he  came 
to  accept  the  conquest  of  the  air  as  just  one  iritre  marvel 
in  a  world  of  marvels. 

But  his  wonder  in  the  sky  itself  never  lessened.  About; 
its  width  he  did  not  ponder,  never  having  seen  more  than 
a  narrow  portion  of  it  since  he  was  big  enough  to  do  mucH 
thinking.  But,  oh,  the  depth  of  it !  He  could  see  no  sign 
of  a  limit  to  that,  and  Mrs.  Kukor  declared  there  was 
none,  but  that  it  reached  on  and  on  and  on  and  on!  To 
what?  Just  to  more  of  the  on  and  on.  It  never  stopped. 

One  night  Cis  and  he,  bent  over  the  lip  of  the  window, 
she  upholstered  on  a  certain  excelsior-filled  pillow  which 
was  very  dear  to  her,  and  he  padded  by  Big  Tom's  cast- 
offs,  had  attempted  to  realize  what  Mrs.  Kukor  had  said. 
"On — and  on — and  on — and  on,"  they  had  murmured. 
Until  finally  just  the  trying  to  comprehend  it  had  become 
overpowering,  terrible.  Cis  declared  that  if  they  kept  at 
it  she  would  certainly  become  dizzy  and  fall  out.  And  so 
they  had  stopped. 

But  Johnnie  was  not  afraid  to  think  about  it,  awful  as 


30  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

it  was.  It  was  at  night,  mostly,  that  he  did  his  thinking. 
At  night  the  birds  he  loved  were  all  asleep.  But  so  was 
Barber;  and  Johnnie,  with  no  fear  of  interruption,  could 
separate  himself  from  the  world,  could  mentally  kick  it 
away  from  under  him,  and  lightly  project  his  thin  little 
body  up  to  the  stars. 

Whenever  fog  or  clouds  screened  the  sky  patch,  hiding 
the  stars,  a  radiance  was  thrown  upon  the  heavens  by  the 
combined  lights  of  the  city — a  radiance  which,  Johnnie 
thought,  came  from  above ;  and  he  was  always  half  ex- 
pecting a  strange  moon  to  come  pushing  through  the  cloud 
screen,  or  a  new  sun,  or  a  premature  dawn! 

Now  looking  up  into  the  deep  blue  he  murmured,  "On — 
and — on — and  on,"  to  himself.  And  he  wondered  if  the 
gulls  or  the  pigeons  ever  went  so  far  into  the  blue  that 
they  lost  their  way,  and  never  came  back — but  just  flew, 
and  flew,  ind  flew,  till  weariness  overcame  them,  when  they 
dropped,  and  dropped,  and  dropped,  and  dropped ! 

A  window  went  up  in  front  of  him,  across  the  area,  and 
a  voice  began  to  call  at  him  mockingly:  "Girl's  hair! 
Girl's  hair!  All  he's  got  is  girl's  hair!  All  he's  got  is 
girl's  hair !" 

He  started  back  as  if  from  a  blow.  Then  reaching  a 
quick  hand  to  the  sash,  he  closed  the  window  and  stepped 
down. 

The  voice  belonged  to  a  boy  who  had  once  charged  Mrs. 
Kukor  with  going  to  church  on  a  Saturday.  But  even 
as  Johnnie  left  the  sill  he  felt  no  anger  toward  the  boy 
save  on  Mrs.  Kukor's  account.  Because  he  knew  that  his 
hair  was  like  a  girl's.  If  the  boy  criticized  it,  that  was 
no  more  than  Johnnie  constantly  did  himself. 

Tne  second  his  feet  touched  the  splintery  floor  he  made 
toward  the  table,  caught  up  the  teapot,  went  to  lean  his 
head  over  the  sink,  and  poured  upon  his  offending  locks 
the  whole  remaining  contents  of  the  pot — leaves  and  all. 


THE    FOUR    MILLIONAIRES  31 

For  Cis  (that  mine  of  wisdom)  had  told  him  that  tea  was 
darkening  in  its  effect,  not  only  upon  the  lining  of  the 
tummy,  which  was  an  interesting  thought,  but  upon  hair. 
And  while  he  did  not  care  what  color  he  was  inside,  darker 
hair  he  longed  to  possess.  So,  his  bright  tangles  a-drip, 
he  set  the  teapot  in  among  the  unwashed  pans  and  fell  to 
rubbing  the  tea  into  his  scalp. 

And  now  at  last  he  was  ready  to  begin  the  really  im- 
portant matters  of  the  day. 

But  just  which  of  many  should  he  choose  for  his  start? 
He  stood  still  for  a  moment,  considering,  and  a  look  came 
into  his  face  that  was  all  pure  radiance. 

High  in  the  old  crumbling  building,  as  cut  off  from  the 
world  about  him  as  if  he  were  stranded  with  Grandpa  on 
some  mountain  top,  he  did  not  fret  about  being  shut  in 
and  away ;  he  was  glad  of  it.  He  was  spared  the  taunts 
of  boys  who  did  not  like  his  hair  or  his  clothes ;  but  also 
he  had  the  whole  flat  to  himself.  Day  after  day  there  was 
no  one  to  make  him  do  this,  or  stop  his  doing  that.  He 
could  handle  what  he  liked,  dig  around  in  any  corner  or 
box,  eat  when  he  wished.  Most  important  of  all,  he  could 
think  what  he  pleased ! 

He  never  dwelt  for  any  length  of  time  upon  unhappy 
pictures — those  which  had  in  them  hate  or  revenge.  His 
brain  busied  itself  usually  with  places  and  people  and 
events  which  brought  him  happiness. 

For  instance,  how  he  could  travel !  And  all  for  noth- 
ing! His  calloused  feet  tucked  round  the  legs  of  the 
kitchen  chair,  his  body  relaxed,  his  expression  as  rapt  as 
any  Buddhist  priest's,  his  big  hands  locked  about  his 
knees,  and  his  eyes  fastened  upon  a  spot  on  the  wall,  he 
could  forsake  the  Barber  flat,  could  go  forth,  as  if  out  of 
his  own  body,  to  visit  any  number  of  wonderful  lands  which 
lay  so  near  that  he  could  cross  their  borders  in  a  moment. 
He  could  sail  vast  East  Rivers  in  marvelous  tugs.  He 


32  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

could  fly  superbly  over  great  cities  in  his  own  aeroplane. 
And  all  this  travel  brought  him  into  contact  with  just 
the  sort  of  men  and  women  he  wanted  to  know,  so  politely 
kind,  so  interesting.  They  never  tired  of  him,  nor  he  of 
them.  He  was  with  them  when  he  wanted  to  be — instantly. 
Or  they  came  to  the  flat  in  the  friendliest  way.  And  when 
its  unpleasant  duties  claimed  him — the  Monday  wash,  the 
Tuesday  ironing,  the  Saturday  scrubbing,  or  the  regular 
everyday  jobs  such  as  dishes,  beds,  cooking,  bead-string- 
ing, and  violet-making — frequently  they  helped  him,  light- 
ening his  work  with  their  charming  companionship,  stimu- 
lating him  with  their  example  and  praise. 
Oh,  they  were  just  perfect! 

And  how  quiet,  every  one  of  them !  So  often  when  the 
longshoreman  returned  of  an  evening,  his  bloodshot  eyes 
roving  suspiciously,  a  crowd  of  handsomely  dressed  people 
filled  the  ^itchen,  and  he  threaded  that  crowd,  yet  never 
guessed !  "vVhen  Big  Tom  spoke,  the  room  usually  cleared ; 
but  later  on  Johnnie  could  again  summon  all  with  no  trou- 
ble whatever,  whether  they  were  great  soldiers  or  presi- 
dents, kings  or  millionaires. 

Of  the  latter  he  was  especially  fond ;  in  particular,  of  a 
certain  four.  And  as  he  paused  now  to  decide  upon  his 
program,  he  thought  of  that  quartet.  Why  not  give  them 
a  call  on  the  telephone  this  morning? 

He  headed  for  the  morris  chair.  Under  its  soiled  seat- 
cushion  was  a  ragged  copy  of  the  New  York  telephone 
directory,  which  just  nicely  filled  in  the  sag  between  the 
cushion  and  the  bottom  of  the  chair.  He  took  the  direc- 
tory out — as  carefully  as  if  it  were  some  volume  not  pos- 
sible of  duplication. 

It  was  his  only  book.  Once,  while  Cis  was  still  attend- 
ing school,  he  had  shared  her  speller  and  her  arithmetic, 
and  made  them  forever  his  own  (though  he  did  not  realize 
it  yet)  by  tHe  simple  method  of  photographing  each  on 


THE    FOUR    MILLIONAIRES  »3 

lus  brain — page  by  page.  And  it  was  lucky  that  he  did; 
for  when  Cis's  brief  schooldays  came  to  an  end,  Big  Tom 
took  the  two  textbooks  out  with  him  one  morning  and 
sold  them. 

The  directory  was  the  prized  gift  of  Mrs.  Kukor's  daugh- 
ter, Mrs.  Reisenberger,  who  was  married  to  a  pawnbroker, 
very  rich,  and  who  occupied  an  apartment  (not  a  flat) — 
very  fine,  very  expensive — in  a  great  Lexington  Avenue 
building  that  had  an  elevator,  and  a  uniformed  black  ele- 
vator man,  very  stylish.  The  directory  meant  more  to 
Johnnie  than  ever  had  Cis's  books.  He  knew  its  small- 
typed  pages  from  end  to  end.  Among  the  splendid  things 
it  advertised,  front,  back,  and  at  the  bottom  of  its  pages, 
were  many  he  admired.  And  he  owned  these  whenever  he 
felt  like  it,  whether  automobiles  or  animals,  cash  registers 
or  eyeglasses.  But  such  possessions,  fine  as  they  were, 
took  second  place  in  his  interest.  What  thrill*!  him  was 
the  list  of  subscribers — the  living,  breathing  thousands 
that  waited  his  call  at  the  other  end  of  a  wire !  And  what 
people  they  were! — the  world-celebrated,  the  fabulously 
wealthy,  the  famously  beautiful  (as  Cis  herself  declared), 
and  the  socially  elect ! 

Of  course  there  was  still  others  who  were  prominent, 
such  as  storekeepers,  prize  fighters,  hotel  owners  and  the 
like  (again  it  was  Cis  who  furnished  the  data).  But 
Johnnie,  as  has  been  seen,  aimed  high  always ;  and  he  was 
particular  in  the  matter  of  his  telephonic  associations. 
Except  when  shopping,  he  made  a  strict  rule  to  ring  up 
only  the  most  superior. 

There  was  a  clothesline  strung  down  the  whole  length  of 
the  kitchen.  This  Johnnie  lowered  on  a  washday  to  his 
own  easy  reach.  At  other  times  it  was  raised  out  of  the 
way  of  Big  Tom's  head. 

He  let  the  line  down.  Then,  pushing  the  kitchen  chair 
to  that  end  of  the  rope  which  was  farthest  from  the  stove 


34s  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

and  the  sleeping  old  man,  he  stood  upon  it;  and  having 
considered  a  moment  whether  he  would  first  call  up  Mr. 
Astor,  or  Mr.  Vanderbilt,  or  Mr.  Carnegie,  or  Mr.  Rocke- 
feller, decided  upon  Mr.  Astor,  and  gave  a  number  to  a 
priceless  Central  who  was  promptness  itself,  who  never 
rang  the  wrong  bell,  or  reported  a  busy  wire,  or  cut  him  off 
in  the  midst  of  an  engrossing  conversation. 

This  morning,  as  usual,  he  got  his  number  at  once. 
"Good-mornin',  Mister  Astor !"  he  hailed  breezily.  "This 
is  Johnnie  Smith. — 'Oh,  good-mornin',  Mister  Smith! 
How  are  y'?' — I'm  fine! — 'That's  fine!' — How  are  you, 
Mister  Astor?— 'Oh,  I'm  fine.'— That's  fine!— 1  was  just 
wonderin',  Mister  Smith,  if  you  would  like  to  go  out 
ridin'  with  me.' — Yes,  I  would,  Mister  Astor.  I  think  it'd 
be  fine!— <Y'  would?  Well,  that's  fine!  And,  Mister 
Smith,  I'll  come  by  for  y'  in  about  ten  minutes.  And  if 
ye'd  like  tt&  take  a  friend  along '  **• 

There  now  followed,  despite  the  appointment  set  for  so 
early  a  moment,  a  long  and  confidential  exchange  of  views 
on  a  variety  of  subjects.  When  this  was  finished,  Johnnie 
rang,  in  turn,  Messrs.  Vanderbilt,  Carnegie  and  Rocke- 
feller, sparing  these  gentlemen  all  the  time  in  the  world. 
(When  any  one  of  them  did  indeed  call  for  him,  fulfilling 
an  appointment,  what  a  gorgeous  blue  plush  hat  the  mil- 
lionaire wore !  and  what  a  royally  fur-collared  coat !) 

Now  Johnnie  put  aside  the  important  engagement  He 
Had  made  with  Mr.  Astor,  and,  being  careful  first  to  find 
the  right  numbers  in  the  book,  got  in  touch  with  numerous 
large  concerns,  and  ordered  jewelry,  bicycles,  limousines, 
steam  boilers  and  paper  drinking  cups  witK  magnificent 
lavishness. 

He  had  finished  ordering  his  tentH  automobile,  whicK 
was  to  be  done  up  in  red  velvet  to  match  the  faithful 
Buckle,  when  there  fell  upon  his  quick  ear  the  sound  of  a 
step.  In  the  next  instant  he  let  go  of  the  clothesline,  sent 


THE    FOUR    MILLIONAIRES  35 

the  telephone  book  slipping  from  the  chair  at  his  feet,  and 
plunged  like  a  swimmer  toward  that  loose  ball  of  gingham 
under  the  sink. 

And  not  a  moment  too  soon ;  for  scarcely  had  He  tossed 
the  tied  strings  over  his  tea-leaf-sprinkled  hair,  when  the 
cloor  opened,  and  there,  coat  on  arm,  great  chest  heaving 
from  his  climb,  bulgy  eyes  darting  to  mark  the  condition 
of  the  flat,  stood — Barber ! 


CHAPTER   V 

NEW    FRIENDS 

IT  WAS  an  awful  moment. 
During  that  moment  there  was  clead  silence.  John- 
nie's heart  stopped  beating,  his  ears  sang,  his  throat 
knotted  as  if  paralyzed,  and  the  skin  on  the  back  of  his 
head  crinkled;  while  in  all  those  uneven  thickets  of  his 
tawny,  tea-stained  hair,  small,  dreadful  winds  stirred,  and 
he  seemed  to  lift — horribly — away  from  the  floor. 

Also,  a  tickish,  sinking  feeling  at  the  lower  end  of  His 
breastbone  made  him  certain  that  he  was  about  to  break 
in  two ;  and  a  sudden  wobbling  of  the  knees  threatened  to 
bring  him  down  upon  them. 

Barber  closed  the  hall  door  at  his  back — gently,  so  as 
not  to  waken  his  father.  His  eyes  were  still  roving  the 
kitchen  appraisingly.  I£  was  plain  that  the  full  sink  and 
the  littered  table  were  having  their  effect;  upon  him ;  for  he 
had  begun  that  chewing  on  nothing  whicH  betokened  a 
rising  temper. 

Johnnie  saw,  but  he  was  foo  stunned  and  scared  to 
think  of  any  way  out  of  his  difficulty.  He  might  have 
caught  up  the  big  cooking  spoon  and  rapped  on  that  lead 
pipe — five  times  in  rapid  succession,  as  if  he  were  trying 
to  clear  the  spoon  of  the  cereal  clinging  to  its  bowl.  The 
five  raps  was  a  signal  that  he  had  not  used  for  a  long 
time.  It  belonged  fo  that  dreadful  era  to  which  Cis  and 
he  referred  as  '^before  the  saloons  shut  up."  Preceding 
the  miracle  that  had  brought  the  closing  of  these,  Bar- 

36 


NEW  FRIENDS  37 

ber,  returning  home  from  his  day's  work,  had  needed  no 
excuse  for  using  the  strap  or  his  boot  upon  either  of  the 
children.  And  once  he  had  struck  helpless  old  Grandpa — 
a  happening  remembered  by  Cis  and  Johnnie  with  awesome 
horror,  so  that  they  spoke  of  it  as  they  spoke  of  the  Great 
War,  or  of  a  murder  in  the  next  block. 

It  had  not  been  possible  in  those  days  for  Big  Tom  to 
overlook  the  temptation  of  drink.  To  arrive  at  his  own 
door  from  any  direction  he  had  to  pass  saloons.  At  both 
of  the  nearest  street  crossings  northward,  three  of  the 
four  corners  had  been  occupied  by  drinking  places.  There 
were  two  at  each  of  the  street  crossings  to  the  south.  In 
those  now  distant  times,  the  signal,  and  Mrs.  Kukor's 
prompt  answering  of  it,  had  often  saved  Cis  and  Johnnie 
from  drunken  beatings. 

But  now  the  boy  sent  no  signal.  Those  big-girl's  hands 
were  shaking  in  spite  of  all  effort  to  control!  His  up- 
turned face  was  a  ghastly  sallow.  The  gray  eyes  were  set. 

Barber's  survey  of  the  room  finished,  he  stepped  across 
the  sagging  telephone  line,  placed  the  cargo  hook  and  his 
lunch  pail  on  the  untidy  table,  and  squared  round  upon 
Johnnie. 

"Now,  say!" 

"Yes  ?"     It  was  a  whisper. 

"What  y'  done  in  here  since  I  left  two  hours  ago?" 

Johnnie  drew  a  quick  breath.  He  was  not  given  to  false- 
hood, but  he  did  at  times  depend  upon  evasion — at  such 
times  as  this.  And  not  unnaturally.  For  he  was  in  the 
absolute  power  of  a  bully  five  times  his  own  size — a  bully 
who  was  none  the  less  cruel  because  he  argued  that  he  was 
disciplining  the  boy  properly,  bringing  him  up  "right." 
Discipline  or  not,  Big  Tom  did  not  know  the  meaning  of 
mercy;  and  to  Johnnie  the  blow  of  one  of  those  great 
gorillalike  fists  was  like  some  cataclysm  of  nature. 

"What  y'  done?"  persisted  Barber,  but  speaking  low, 


38  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

so  as  not  to  disturb  the  sleeper  in  the  wheel  chair.  He 
leaned  down  toward  Johnnie,  and  thrust  out  that  lower  lip. 

The  boy's  own  lips  began  to  move,  stiffly.  But  he  spoke 
as  if  he  were  out  of  breath.  "Grandpa  f-f-fretted,"  he 
stammered.  "He — he  wanted  to  be  run  up  and  down — > 
with  his  hat  on.  And — and  so  I  filled  the  m-m-mush- 
kettle  t'  soak  it,  and  then  we — we " 

His  lips  went  on  moving;  but  his  words  became  inau- 
dible. A  smile  was  twisting  Barber's  mouth,  and  carry- 
ing that  crooked,  cavernous  nose  sidewise.  Johnnie  un- 
derstood the  smile.  The  fringe  about  his  thin  arms  and 
legs  began  to  tremble.  He  raised  both  hands  toward  the 
longshoreman,  the  palms  outward,  in  a  gesture  that  was 
like  a  silent  prayer. 

With  a  muttered  curse,  Barber  straightened,  turned  on 
his  heel,  strode  to  the  door  of  his  bedroom,  threw  it  wide, 
noted  the  fenmade  beds,  and  came  about,  pushing  at  the 
sleeve  of  his  right  arm.  "Come  here,"  he  bade,  and  the 
quiet  of  his  tone  was  more  terrible  to  the  boy  than  if  he 
had  shouted. 

Johnnie  did  not  obey.  He  could  not.  His  legs  would 
not  move.  His  feet  were  rooted.  "Oh,  Mister  Barber," 
he  pleaded.  "Oh,  don't  lick  me!  I  won't  never  do  it 
again!  Oh,  don't!  Oh,  don't!  Oh,  don't!" 

"Come  here."  The  great  arm  was  bared  now.  The 
voice  was  lower  than  before.  In  one  bulging,  bloodshot 
eye  that  cast  showed  and  went;,  then  showed  again.  "Do 
what  I  say — come  here." 

"Oh !  oh !  oh !"     Again  JoKnnie  was  gasping. 

Barber  burst  out  at  him  like  some  fierce  storm.  "Don't 
y'  try  t'  fool  me!"  he  cried.  He  came  on.  When  he  was 
within  reach,  that  great,  naked,  iron  arm  shot  out,  seized 
the  boy  at  his  middle,  swept  him  up  from  the  floor  with  a 
violence  that  sent  the  tea  leaves  flying  from  the  yellow 
hair,  held  him  for  a  second  in  mid-air,  the  small  body 


NEW  FRIENDS  39 

slouched  in  the  big  clothes  as  in  the  bottom  of  a  sack,  then 
shook  him  till  he  fairly  rattled,  like  a  pea  in  a  pod. 

In  a  terror  that  wag  uncontrollable,  Johnnie  began  to 
thrash  about  and  scream.  And  as  Barber  half  dropped, 
half  flung  him  to  the  floor,  old  Grandpa  roused,  and  came 
round  in  his  chair,  tap-tapping  with  the  cane.  "Captain !" 
he  shrilled.  "The  right's  falling  back!  They're  giving 
us  grape  and  canister !=Oh,  our  boys !  Our  poor  boys!" 
Frightened  by  any  trouble,  his  mind  always  reverted  to 
old  scenes  of  battle,  when  his  broken  sentences  were  like  a 
halting,  squeaky  record  in  some  talking  machine  that  is 
out  of  order  and  running  down. 

As  Grandpa  rolled  near  to  Johnnie,  the  latter  caught  at 
a  wheel,  seeking  help,  in  his  extremity,  of  the  helpless,  and 
thrust  his  hands  through  the  spokes  to  lock  them.  So  that 
as  Barber  once  more  bent  and  dragged  at  him,  the  chair 
and  the  old  man  followed  about  the  kitchen.  * 

"Let  go!"  commanded  the  longshoreman.  He  tried  to 
shake  Johnnie  free  of  the  wheel. 

But  Johnnie  held  on,  and  his  cries  redoubled.  The 
kitchen  was  in  a  tumult  now,  for  old  Grandpa  was  also 
weeping — not  only  in  fear  for  Johnnie,  but  in  terror  lest 
he  himself  be  overturned.  And  Big  Tom  was  alternately 
cursing  and  ordering. 

The  trouble  was  heard  elsewhere.  To  right  and  left 
there  was  movement,  and  the  sound  of  windows  being 
raised.  Voices  called  out  questioningly.  Some  one 
pounded  on  a  wall  in  protest.  And  overhead  Mrs.  Kukor 
left  her  chair  and  went  rocking  across  her  floor. 

Muttering  a  savage  exclamation,  Big  Tom  let  go  of  the 
boy  and  flung  himself  into  the  morris  chair,  not  wanting 
to  go  so  far  with  his  punishment  as  to  invite  the  complaints 
of  his  neighbors  and  the  interference  of  the  police.  "Git 
up  out  of  that !"  he  commanded,  giving  Johnnie  a  rough 
nudge  with  a  foot;  then  to  quiet  his  father,  "Now,  Pa! 


40  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

That'll  do.  Sh!  sh!  It's  all  right.  The  battle's  over, 
and  the  Yanks've  beat." 

But  Johnnie  was  still  prone,  with  the  wheel  in  his  em- 
brace, and  the  old  veteran  was  sobbing,  his  wrinkled  face 
glistening  with  tears,  when  Mrs.  Kukor  opened  the  door 
and  came  doll-walking  in. 

She  was  a  short  little  lady,  witK  a  compact,  inflexible 
figure  that  was,  so  to  speak,  square,  with  rounded-off  cor- 
ners— square,  and  solid,  and  heavy.  She  had  eyes  that 
were  as  black  and  round  and  bright  as  a  sparrow's,  a  full, 
red  mouth,  and  graying  hair,  abundant  and  crinkly,  which 
stood  out  around  her  countenance  as  if  charged  with  elec- 
tricity. It  escaped  the  hairpins.  Even  a  knitted  brown 
cap  of  some  weight  did  not  adequately  confine  it.  Every 
hair  seemed  vividly  alive. 

Her  olive  face  was  a  trifle  pale  now.  Her  birdlike  eyes 
darted  froifc  one  to  another  of  the  trio,  quickly  taking  in 
the  situation.  Too  concerned  to  make  any  apology  for 
her  unannounced  entrance,  she  teetered  hastily  to  Big 
Tom's  side. 

"Oyf  oy!"  sHe  breathed  anxiously.    **Vo£  iss?" 

"Tommie  home,"  faltered  old  Grandpa.  "Tommie  Home. 
And  the  color  sergeant's  dead !"  He  reached  his  arms  out 
to  her  like  a  frightened  child  who  welcomes  company. 

Like  her  eyes,  Mrs.  Kukor's  lips  never  rested,  going 
even  when  she  listened,  for  she  had  the  habit  of  silently  re- 
peating whatever  was  said.  Thus,  with  lips  and  eyes  busy, 
head  alternately  wagging  and  nodding  eloquently,  and  both 
hands  waving,  she  was  constantly  in  motion.  Now,  "The 
color  sergeant's  dead!"  her  mouth  framed,  and  she  gave 
a  swift  glance  around  almost  as  if  she  expected  to  see  a 
fallen  flag  bearer. 

"It's  this  lazy  little  rascal  again,"  declared  Barber, 
working  his  jaws  in  baffled  wrath. 

"So-o-o-o!"     She  stooped  and  laid  a  gentle  hand  on 


NEW   FRIENDS  41 

JoHnnie's  shoulder.  "Come,"  she  said.  "Better  Chomrie, 
he  goes  in  a  liddle  by  Cis's  room.  No  ?"  And  as  the  boy, 
still  trembling,  got  to  his  knees  beside  the  chair,  she  helped 
him  to  rise,  and  half  led,  half  carried  him  past  the  stove. 

Barber  began  his  defense.  "I  go  out  o'  here  of  a 
moram',"  he  complained,  "to  do  a  hard  day's  work,  so's 
I  can  pay  rent  and  the  grocer.  I  leave  that  kid  t'  do  a 
few  little  things  'round  the  place.  And  the  minute  my 
back's  turned,  what  does  he  do?  Nothin'!  I  come  back, 
and  look!" 

Mrs.  Kukor,  having  seen  Johnnie  out  of  the  room, 
turned  about.  Then,  smoothing  her  checked  apron  with 
her  plump  hands,  she  glanced  at  Barber  with  a  depre- 
cating smile.  "I  haf  look,"  she  answered.  "Und  I  know. 
But — he  wass  yust  a  poy,  und  you  know  poys." 

"I  know  boys  have  t'  work,"  came  back  Bajber,  right- 
eously. "If  they  don't,  they  grow  up  into  no-account 
men.  When  his  Aunt  Sophie  died,  I  promised  her  I'd 
raise  him  right.  The  work  here  don't  amount  to  nothin', 
— anyhow  not  if  you  compare  it  with  what  I  done  when  / 
was  a  boy.  Why,  on  my  father's  farm,  up-state,  I  was 
out  of  my  bed  before  sunup,  winter  and  summer,  doin' 
chores,  milkin',  waterin'  the  stock,  hoein',  and  so  on. 
What's  a  few  dishes  to  that?  What's  a  bed  or  two?  and 
a  little  sweepin'?  And  look!  He  ain't  even  washed  the 
old  man  yet !  And  I  like  to  see  my  father  clean  and  neat. 
That's  what  makes  me  so  red-hot,  Mrs.  Kukor — the  way 
he  neglects  my  father." 

"Chonnie  wass  shut  up  so  much,"  argued  Mrs.  Kukor. 

That  cast  whitened  Big  Tom's  eye  anxiously.  He  did 
not  want  Johnnie  to  hear  any  talk  about  going  out.  He 
hastened  to  reply,  and  his  tone  was  more  righteous  than 
ever.  "No  kid  out  of  this  flat  is  goin'  to  run  the  streets," 
he  declared,  "and  learn  all  kinds  of  bad,  and  bring  it  home 
to  that  nice,  little  stepdaughter  o'  mine !  No,  Mrs.  Kukor, 


42  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

her  mother'd  haunt  me  if  I  didn't  bring  her  up  nice,  and 
you  can  bet  I'll  do  that.  That  kid,  long's  he  stays  under 
my  roof,  is  goin'  t'  be  fit  t'  stay.  And  he  wouldn't  be  if 
he  gadded  the  streets  with  the  gangs  in  this  part  of  town." 
While  this  excuse  for  keeping  Johnnie  indoors  was  any- 
thing but  the  correct  one,  Big  Tom  was  able  to  make  his 
voice  fervent. 

"But  Chonnie  wass  tired  mit  always  seeink  the  kitchen," 
persisted  the  little  Jewish  lady.  "He  did-ent  go  out  now 
for  a  lo-ong  times.  I  got  surprises  he  ain't  crazy !" 

"That's  just  what  he  is!"  cried  Big  Tom,  triumphantly. 
"He's  crazy !  Of  all  the  foolishness  in  the  world,  he  can 
think  it  up !  And  the  things  he  does ! — but  nothin'  that'll 
ever  git  him  anywheres,  or  do  him  any  good !  And  lazy  ? 
Anything  t*  kill  time — t'  git  out  of  honest  work!  Now 
what  d'y'  suppose  he  was  doin'  with  this  clothes  line  down  ? 
and  talkin'  out  loud  to  himself  ?" 

"Niaggery!  Niaggery!"  piped  old  Grandpa,  smiling 
through  his  tears,  and  swaying  against  the  rope  that 
crossed  his  chest.  "Niaggery !  Niaggery !  Chug !  chug ! 
chug!" 

Mrs.  Kukor  spread  out  both  hands  in  a  comprehensive 
gesture.  "See?"  she  asked.  "Oh,  I  haf  listen.  The  chair 
goes  roundt  and  roundt,  und  much  water  wass  runnink  in 
the  sink.  It  wass  for  Grandpa,  und — it  takes  time." 

Barber's  dark  face  relaxed  a  little.  It  could  not  truth- 
fully be  said  of  him  that  he  was  a  bad  son ;  and  any  ex- 
cuse that  offered  his  father  as  its  reason  invariably  soft- 
ened him.  He  pulled  himself  to  his  feet  and  picked  up  the 
lunch  pail  and  the  cargo  hook.  "Well — all  right,"  he 
conceded.  "But  I  said  t'  myself,  Til  bet  that  kid  ain't 
workin'.'  So  havin'  a'  hour,  I  come  home  t'  see.  And 
how'd  he  git  on  yesterday,  makin'  vi'lets  for  y'?" 

"Ach !" — this,  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  was  aimed 
at  herself.  "I  wass  forgettink !"  Under  her  apron  hung 


NEW  FRIENDS  48 

a  long,  slender,  black  bag.  Out  of  it  she  took  a  twenty- 
five-cent  piece  and  offered  the  coin  to  Barber.  "For  yest- 
tady,"  she  added. 

"Thank  y'."  He  took  the  quarter.  "Glad  the  kid  done 
his  work." 

"Oh,  sure  he  do!"  protested  Mrs.  Kukor.  "Pos-i-tiv- 
vle!"  (Mrs.  Kukor  could  also  be  guilty  of  self-decep- 
tion.) 

Now,  Barber  raised  his  voice  a  little :  "Johnnie,  let's  see 
how  quick  you  can  straighten  this  place  up." 

At  that,  Mrs.  Kukor  waved  both  hands  in  eloquent  sig- 
nals, urging  Big  Tom  to  go;  tapped  her  chest,  winked, 
and  made  little  clicking  noises  with  her  tongue — all  to 
denote  the  fact  that  she  would  see  everything  straightened 
up  to  perfection,  but  that  for  old  Grandpa's  sake  further 
conversation  with  Johnnie  might  be  a  mistake,  since  weep- 
ing all  around  would  surely  break  out  again.  So  Barber, 
muttering  something  about  leaving  her  a  clear  coast, 
scuffed  his  way  out. 

As  the  hall  door  closed,  Johnnie  buried  his  small  nose  in 
Cis's  pillow.  He  was  wounded  in  pride  rather  than  in 
body.  He  hated  to  be  found  on  the  floor  at  the  toe  of  Big 
Tom's  boot.  He  had  listened  to  the  conversation  while 
lying  face  downward  on  Cis's  bed  but  with  his  head  raised 
like  a  turtle's.  However,  it  seemed  best,  somehow,  not  to 
be  found  in  that  position  by  Mrs.  Kukor.  He  must  not 
take  his  ill-treatment  lightly,  nor  recover  from  his  hurts 
too  quick.  He  decided  to  be  prone  and  prostrated.  When 
the  little  Jewish  lady  came  swaying  in  to  him,  therefore, 
he  was  stretched  flat,  his  yellow  head  motionless. 

The  sight  smote  Mrs.  Kukor.  In  all  the  five  years  he 
had  lived  at  the  Barber  flat,  she  had  continually  watched 
over  him,  plying  him  with  medicine,  pulling  his  baby  teeth, 
mending  his  ragged  clothes,  teaching  him  to  cook  and  do 


44  THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR    BOY 

housework,  feeding  him  kosher  dainties,  and — for  reasons 
better  hinted  at  than  made  plain — keeping  a  sharp  look- 
out in  the  matter  of  his  bright  hair. 

In  the  beginning,  when  trouble  had  assailed  him,  her 
lap  had  received  him  like  the  mother's  lap  he  could  not 
remember;  her  arms  had  cradled  him  tenderly,  her  kisses 
had  comforted,  and  he  had  often  wept  out  his  rage  and 
mortification  on  her  bosom. 

However,  long  since  he  had  felt  himself  too  big  to  be 
held  or  kissed.  And  as  for  his  hair,  she  understood  what 
a  delicate  subject  it  had  come  to  be  with  him.  She  would 
have  liked  to  stroke  it  now ;  but  she  contented  herself  with 
patting  gently  one  thin  arm.  Behind  her  was  old 
Grandpa,  peering  into  the  dim  closet. 

"Oy !  oy !  oy !"  mourned  Mrs.  Kukor,  wagging  her  round 
head.  "Ev'rytink  goes  bat  if  some  peoples  lives  by  oder 
peoples  w'Sh  did-ent  belonk  mit.  Und  how  to  do  ?  I  can't 
to  say,  except  yust  live  alonk,  und  see  if  sometink  nice 
happens  maype." 

Johnnie  moved,  with  a  long,  dry  sob,  and  very  tenderly 
she  leaned  down  to  turn  his  face  toward  her.  "Ach,  poor 
Chonnie!"  she  cried.  "Come!  We  will  wash  him,  und 
makes  him  all  fresh  und  clean.  Und  next — how  do  you 
t'ink?  Mrs.  Kukor  hass  for  you  a  big  surprises !" 

He  sat  up  then,  wearily,  but  forbore  to  seem  curious, 
and  she  coaxed  him  into  the  kitchen,  to  bathe  the  dust 
and  tears  from  his  countenance,  and  stitch  up  some  rents 
in  the  big  shirt,  where  Big  Tom  had  torn  it.  All  the  while 
she  talked  to  him  comfortingly.  "Ach,  mine  heart  it 
bleets  over  you!"  she  declared.  "But  nefer  mind.  Be- 
cause, oh,  such  swell  surprises!" 

Now  Johnnie  felt  he  could  properly  show  interest  in 
things  outside  the  morning's  trouble.  "What,  Mrs. 
Kukor?"  he  wanted  to  know.  "Is  it — is  it  noodle  soup?" 


NEW  FRIENDS  45 

And  now  botK  burst  out  laughing,  for  it  was  always  a 
great  joke  between  them,  his  liking  for  her  noodle  soup. 
Old  Grandpa  laughed  loudest  of  all,  circling  them,  and 
pounding  the  floor  with  his  cane.  "What  say?"  he  de- 
manded. "What  say?"  Altogether  the  restoration  to  the 
flat  of  peace  and  happiness  was  made  so  evident  that,  to 
right,  left,  and  below,  windows  now  began  to  go  down 
with  a  bang,  as,  the  Barber  row  over,  the  neighbors  went 
back  to  their  own  affairs. 

"It  wass  not  noodle  soup,"  declared  Mrs.  Kukor.  "It 
wass  sometink  a  t'ousand  times  so  goot.  But  not  for  cat- 
ink.  No.  Much  better  as.  Und !  Sooner  your  work  wass 
finished,  make  a  signals  to  me  alonk  of  the  sink,  und  see 
how  it  happens !" 

More  she  would  not  say,  but  rocked  out  and  up. 

Johnnie  went  at  his  dishes  hard.  The  table  Beared,  the 
sink  empty,  and  the  cupboard  full,  he  tied  the  clothesline 
out  of  the  way,  then  with  broom  and  dustpan  invaded  Big 
Tom's  bedroom,  which  Grandpa  shared  with  his  hulking 
son.  Here  were  two  narrow,  iron  bedsteads.  Between 
them  was  barely  room  for  the  wheel  chair  when  it  rolled 
the  little  old  man  in  to  his  night's  rest.  To  right  and  left 
of  the  door,  high  up,  several  nails  supported  a  few  dusty 
garments.  That  was  all. 

If  Johnnie  stooped  in  the  doorway  of  this  room,  he 
could  see  every  square  foot  of  its  floor,  and  every  article 
in  it.  Yet  from  the  very  first  he  had  feared  the  place,  into 
which  no  light  and  air  came  direct.  Whenever  he  swept  it 
and  made  the  beds,  his  heart  beat  fast,  and  he  felt  ner- 
vous concerning  his  ankles,  as  if  Something  were  on  the 
point  of  seizing  them !  For  this  reason  he  always  put  off 
his  bedroom  work  as  long  as  he  could ;  then  finished  it  up 
quickly,  keeping  the  door  wide  while  he  worked.  At  other 
times,  he  kept  it  tight  shut.  Often  when  old  Grandpa  was 


46  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

asleep  by  the  stove,  Johnnie  would  tiptoe  to  that  door, 
lean  against  the  jamb  of  it,  and  listen.  And  he  told  Cis 
that  he  could  plainly  hear  creaking s! 

But  this  morning  he  felt  none  of  his  usual  nervousness, 
so  taken  up  was  his  mind  with  Mrs.  Kukor's  mystery. 
Swiftly  but  carefully  he  made  the  two  beds.  As  a  rule, 
he  contented  himself  with  straightening  each  out,  but  so 
artfully  that  Barber  would  think  the  sheets  had  been 
turned.  Sometimes  Barber  threw  a  bit  of  paper  or  a  sock 
into  one  bed  or  the  other,  in  order  to  trap  Johnnie,  who 
found  it  wise  always  to  search  for  evidence. 

Now  he  pulled  each  bed  apart,  turned  the  old  mattresses 
with  the  loudest  thumps,  snapped  the  sheets  profession- 
ally (Cis  had  taught  him  that!),  whacked  the  pillows  with 
might  and  main,  and  tucked  in  the  worn  blankets  like  a 
trained  nurse.  Then  with  puffs  and  grunts  he  swept  under 
as  well  as  around  the  beds,  searching  out  the  deep  cracks 
with  the  cornstraw,  and  raising  a  prodigious  cloud. 

When  he  came  out  of  the  bedroom  it  was  to  empty  his 
garnerings  into  the  stove  and  repeat  the  dust-gathering 
process  in  Cis's  room,  that  cubby-hole,  four-by-seven, 
which  had  no  window,  and  doubtless  had  been  intended  for 
a  storage  place,  or  a  bathroom  free  from  draughts.  K 
held  no  furniture  at  all — only  a  long,  low  shelf  and  a  dry- 
goods  box.  Cis  slept  on  a  narrow  mattress  which  uphol- 
stered the  shelf,  and  used  the  box  both  as  a  dressing-table 
and  a  wardrobe.  Johnnie  was  not  expected  to  make  up 
the  shelf;  and  was  strictly  forbidden  to  touch  the  box. 
He  scratched  the  floor  successfully,  not  having  attended 
to  it  for  some  days. 

By  the  time  he  was  ready  to  do  the  kitchen,  his  face 
was  streaked  again,  and  glistening  with  perspiration. 
And  he  could  not  help  but  wish,  as  he  planted  the  wheel 
chair  at  the  open  window,  that  Barber,  if  he  intended  to 


NEW  FRIENDS  47 

make  another  unexpected  return,  would  come  at  such  a 
time  as  this,  when  things  that  he  liked  were  happening. 

The  kitchen  floor  lay  in  great  splintering  hummocks 
and  hollows.  Its  wide  cracks  were  solid  with  the  accumu- 
lations of  time,  while  lint  and  frayings,  and  bits  of  cloth 
and  string,  were  fairly  woven  into  its  rough  surface 
everywhere,  and  tenaciously  held.  It  was  lastingly  greasy 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  table,  as  steadily  wet  in  the 
region  of  the  sink,  and  sooty  in  an  ever-widening  circle 
about  the  stove. 

Sprinkling  it  thoroughly,  he  swept  even  the  two 
squares  on  which  were  set  the  fuel  boxes ;  gave  the  stove 
what  amounted  to  a  feverish  rubbing,  then  turned  his  at- 
tention to  old  Grandpa. 

The  morning  routine  of  caring  for  the  aged  veteran  in- 
cluded the  bathing  of  the  wizened  face  and  hands  and  the 
brushing  of  the  thin,  straggling  hair.  Johnnie  hastened 
to  collect  the  wash!  basin,  the  bar  of  soap  (it  was  of  the 
laundry  variety),  and  a  square  of  once-white  cloth,  which 
it  must  be  confessed  was  used  variously  about  the  flat, 
serving  at  one  time  to  polish  the  lamp  chimney,  and  again 
for  any  particular  dusting. 

Grandpa  had  all  of  a  small  boy's  dislike  for  water. 
The  moment  he  spied  Johnnie's  preparations,  he  began  to 
protest.  "No !  no  !"  he  objected.  "It's  cold !  It's  cold !" 
He  whirled  his  chair  in  an  attempt  to  escape. 

But  Johnnie  had  a  fine  device  for  just  this  problem. 
"Oh,  Grandpa!"  he  reminded  coaxingly  as  he  filled  the 
wash  basin  with  warm  water  out  of  the  teakettle,  "don't 
you  remember  that  you  jus'  was  in  a  big  battle?  And 
there's  mud  on  your  face !" 

Grandpa  capitulated  at  once,  and  allowed  himself  to 
be  washed  and  combed.  The  old  man  clean,  Johnnie  gave 
him  a  glass  of  warm  milk,  wheeled  him  as  far  away  from 
the  window  as  possible,  then  trundled  him  gently  back 


48  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

and  forth,  as  if  he  were  a  baby  in  a  carriage.    And  all  tHe 
while  the  boy  sang  softly,  improvising  a  lullaby : 

"Oh,  Grandpa,  now  go  to  s'eepy-s'eep, 
'Cause  you're  awful  tired. 
And  Johnnie  wants  t'  see  what  Mrs.  Kukor 
Is  goin*  to  s'prise  him  about " 

Grandpa  dozing,  Johnnie  did  not  pause  to  eat  the  cold 
potato  and  bread  spread  with  the  grease  of  bacon  trim- 
mings which  made  his  usual  noon  meal.  Curiosity  dulled 
his  hunger.  Gently  he  tapped  upon  that  convenient  pipe 
— once,  then  twice,  then  once  again. 

As  he  leaned  at  the  window  to  wait,  his  small  nose  curled 
in  a  grin.  There  was  no  movement  up  above.  He  half 
suspected  a  joke.  But  he  had  got  off  easy  with  Big  Tom. 
Also,  the%housework  was  done,  and  in  fine  style.  Except 
for  a  little  violet-making — not  too  much — more  than  a 
whole  half-day  still  lay  ahead  of  him.  And  what  an  auto- 
mobile trip  he  could  take  with  Mr.  Astor!  Idly  he  fol- 
lowed the  changing  contours  of  a  cloud  in  an  otherwise 
empty  sky. 

Then  of  a  sudden  something  came  dropping  between 
him  and  the  cloud.  He  started  back.  It  was  a  shallow 
basket,  suspended  from  each  of  its  four  corners  by  a  string. 
As  it  lowered  inch  by  inch,  he  stood  up  in  the  rope  coils ; 
and  what  he  saw  in  it  fairly  took  his  breath.  For  there 
on  the  bottom  of  the  basket  was — a  book ! 
"Gee !"  he  gasped. 

He  brought  the  basket  to  a  safe  landing.  Then,  for- 
getting that  some  one  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  four 
strings,  he  slipped  to  the  floor,  turned  on  the  water  in  the 
sink,  and,  like  a  Moslem  holy  man  who  is  about  to  touch 
his  Koran,  washed  both  grimy  hands. 

To  look  at,  it  was  not  much  of  a  book.     In  the  first 


NEW  FRIENDS  49 

place,  it  had  not  the  length,  width  or  thickness  of  the  tele- 
phone directory,  while  its  corners  were  fully  as  dog-eared. 
iTet  he  took  it  from  the  basket  with  something  like  rever- 
;nce.  It  had  one  cloth  cover — the  back.  This  was  wine- 
red,  and  shiny.  The  front  one  had  been  torn  out  of  its 
binding.  However,  this  seemed  to  him  no  flaw.  Also,  there 
tvere  several  pictures — in  colors!  And  as  he  looked  the 
volume  over  still  more  closely,  he  made  a  wonderful  dis- 
covery: on  the  front  page  was  written  a  name — J.  J. 
Hunter. 

It  was  a  man's  book! 

"Oh,  my  goodness !"  he  whispere3.    "OK,  Mrs.  Kukor !" 

The  basket  danced  inquiringly,  tipped,  and  began  to 
heave  upward.  A  voice  began  to  whisper  to  him,  coming 
down  along  those  four  strings:  "I  finds  him  by  a  secont- 
hant  store-mans.  I  gets  him  almost  for  notink.  He  wass 
olt,  und  very  fine.  Haf  you  open  him  ?  Heat,  ^honnie !" 

He  opened  the  book  at  the  first  page;  and  knew  how 
different  this  one  was  from  tHe  directory,  with  its  solid 
lines  of  names ;  from  the  speller,  printed  in  columns  of 
«rords,  or  the  arithmetic,  which  was  all  hit-or-miss.  Here 
was  a  page  divided  into  paragraphs,  as  in  the  newspapers 
which  Cis  sometimes  smuggled  in.  Before  and  after  many 
of  the  paragraphs  were  those  strange  little  marks,  larger 
at  one  end  than  at  the  other,  which  showed  that  some  one 
was  speaking. 

"It's  a  story !"  he  whispered  back. 

Indeed,  as  he  read  that  first  page,  it  so  informed  him. 
Across  its  top,  in  capital  letters,  ran  those  words:  THE 
STORY  OF  ALADDIN;  OR,  THE  WONDERFUL 
LAMP.  All  his  life  he  had  had  to  make  up  his  own  stories, 
get  acquainted  with  the  people  in  them,  dress  them,  and 
even  give  them  speech.  But  here  was  a  story  belonging 
to  some  one  else — a  story  as  important  as  that  one  about 


50  THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

his  friends  David  and  Goliath,  this  proven  by  the  fact 
that  it  had  been  written  down,  letter  for  letter. 

He  began  it :  In  the  capital  of  one  of  the  large  and  rich 
provinces  of  the  Kingdom  of  China,  the  name  of  which  I 
do  not  recollect,  there  lived  a  tailor,  named  Mustapha,  who 
leas  so  poor,  that  lie  could  hardly,  by  his  daily  labor,  main- 
tain himself  and  his  family,  which  consisted  of  a  wife  and 
son. 

His  son,  who  was  called  Aladdin 

Something  came  into  Johnnie's  throat  when  he  got  that 
far.  He  gulped.  And  he  could  not  read  any  further  just 
then  because  something  had  come  into  his  eyes.  He  laid 
the  book  against  his  breast,  and  crossed  both  arms  upon  it. 
He  did  not  know  how  to  pray.  Mrs.  Kukor  had  never 
dared  teach  him,  fearing  the  wrath  of  Big  Tom.  As  for 
Cis,  she  knew  how  from  her  mother;  but  she  had  all  of  a 
child's  nsLural  shyness  regarding  sacred  subjects. 

To  Johnnie,  Sunday  was  not  a  day  set  apart  for  sacred 
matters.  It  was  a  day  to  be  dreaded.  And  not  only  be- 
cause on  that  day  Barber  was  likely  to  be  about  at  any 
hour,  but  because  for  Johnnie  it  meant  uninterrupted 
work.  The  noon  meal  had  to  be  put  on  the  table  instead 
of  into  lunch  pails.  And  when  dinner  was  cleared  away 
there  was  always  bead-stringing  or  violet-making  to  do — 
Cis  helping  when  she  returned  from  church.  On  account 
of  his  clothes,  Johnnie  never  went  to  church  himself.  What 
he  knew  about  churches,  therefore,  was  only  what  Cis  told 
him;  and  of  her  information  the  most  striking  bit  was 
this:  red  carpets  led  into  them  under  gay  awnings  when- 
ever people  were  getting  married. 

But  as  he  stood  with  the  book  clasped  to  his  breast,  what 
he  felt  was  thanksgiving — to  his  very  toes.  "Aladdin," — 
he  spoke  aloud  to  that  other  boy,  who  was  so  poor ;  "you're 
goin'  t'  be  a  dandy  friend  of  mine!  Yes,  and  your  Pa 


NEW  FRIENDS  51 

mid  Ma,  too'!    And  I'll  introduce  you  to  Buckle,  and  Mr. 
Rockefeller,  and  a  lot  of  nice  folks !" 

Presently  he  brought  the  book  up  to  where,  by  lowering 
bis  head,  he  could  lay  a  thin  cheek  against  that  front 
page.  Then,  "Oh,  Mister  J.  J.  Hunter,"  he  added  huskily, 
;'I  hope  you  ain't  never  goin'  to  want  this  back !" 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  DEAREST  WISH 

HE  read — and  the  shining  Orient  burst  upon  him! 
It  was  as  if  the  most  delicate  of  gossamer  cur- 
tains had  been  brushed  aside  so  that  he  could  look 
at  a  new  world.  What  he  saw  there  rooted  him  to  his 
chair,  holding  him  spellbound.  Yet  not  so  much  because  it 
contrasted  sharply  with  his  own  little  world,  this  bare  flat 
of  Barber's  in  the  lower  East  Side,  as  that  it  seemed  to 
fit  in  perfectly  with  his  own  experiences. 

Aladdin  was  a  boy  like  himself,  who  was  scolded,  and 
cuffed  on  the  ears.  The  African  magician  was  just  an- 
other as  wicked  and  cruel  as  the  longshoreman.  As  for 
that  Slave  of  the  Ring,  Johnnie  considered  him  no  more 
wonderful  than  Buckle.  In  fact,  there  was  nothing  im- 
possible, or  even  improbable,  about  the  story.  It  held  him 
by  its  sheer  reality.  Its  drama  enthralled  him,  too.  And 
he  gloried  in  all  its  beauty  of  golden  dishes,  gorgeous  dress, 
fountain-fed  gardens,  jewel-fruited  trees  and  prancing 
steeds. 

He  read  carefully,  one  forefinger  traveling  to  and  fro 
across  the  wide  pages,  while  his  lips  moved  silently,  and 
he  dragged  at  his  hair.  Sometimes  he  came  to  words  he 
did  not  understand — chastisement,  incorrigible,  physiog- 
nomist, handicraft,  equipped,  mosques,  liberality.  He 
went  over  them  and  pressed  on,  just  as  he  might  have 
climbed  one  wall  after  the  other  if  these  barred  his  way. 
He  could  come  back  to  the  hard  words  later — and  he 

52 


THE  DEAREST  WISH  53 

prould.  But  first  he  must  know  how  things  fared  with  this 
jther  boy. 

When  Grandpa  wakened,  Johnnie  fairly  wrenched  his 
look  from  beautiful  Cathay  to  face  the  demands  which  the 
Borough  of  Manhattan  made  upon  him.  Tucking  his 
aook  under  the  wide  neckband  of  the  big  shirt,  he  let  it 
slip  down  to  rest  at  his  belt.  The  old  soldier  was  hungry. 
He  was  supplied  with  milk  toast  so  speedily  that  it  was 
the  next  thing  to  magic.  Then  Johnnie  discovered  a  hol- 
low feeling  which  centered  in  his  own  anatomy,  whereupon 
IB  ate  several,  cold  boiled  potatoes  well  spiced  with  mus- 
tard. 

Their  late  lunch  over,  Grandpa  was  strong  in  his  ap- 
peals for  a  journey  as  far  south  as  Island  Number  10. 
But  now  Johnnie  had  no  heart  for  any  trip  into  distant 
country.  The  realm  of  China  was  about  him.  He  wheeled 
the  chair  up  and  down,  but  he  sang  to  soothe*Grandpa 
to  sleep.  And  this  time  his  song  was  all  of  his  great  new 
happiness : 

"Oh,  I  got  a  book !     I  got  a  book !     I  got  a  book ! 

Oh,  Mrs.  Kukor,  she  give  it  t'  me ! 

And  it's  awful  grand! 

Once  it  was  a  man's,  and  his  name  was  Hunter — 

I  wonder  if  he  lost  it,  or  maybe  somebody  sold  it  on  him. 

I'm  goin'  t'  read  it  till  I  know  ev'ry  word ! 

I'm  goin' t'  read  it  ev'ry  day — ev'ry  day ! 

Go  t'  sleep,  'cause  I  want  t'  read  some  more! 

Go  t'  sleep !    Go  t'  sleep !    Go  t'  sleep !" 

On  and  on  he  caroled,  like  a  bird  on  a  branch.  At  last 
Grandpa,  after  some  mild  protesting,  was  lulled  by  the 
rhapsody,  and  dozed  once  more;  when  Johnnie  adroitly 
tapered  off  his  song,  brought  the  chair  to  a  cautious  stop, 
drew  the  book  from  its  warm  hiding  place,  sank  into  the 
morris  chair,  and  again  there  swept  into  the  kitchen,  as 


54  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

on  the  crest  of  a  stream,  the  glorious,  the  enchanting 
East. 

He  saw  the  dull,  old  lamp  rubbed  for  the  first  time,  and 
the  genie  come.  And  he  rejoiced  with  Aladdin  as  the  poor 
Chinese  boy  attained  the  knowledge  of  the  lamp's  peculiar 
virtue.  Only  once  did  he  emerge  from  the  thralldom  of 
the  tale  by  his  own  will.  That  was  when  he  read  of  the 
wonderful  Buddir  al  Buddoor :  The  princess  -was  the  most 
beautiful  brunette  in  the  world;  her  eyes  were  large,  lively, 
and  sparkling;  her  looks  sweet  and  modest;  her  nose  was 
of  a  just  proportion  and  without  a  fault,  her  mouth  small, 
her  lips  of  a  vermilion  red  and  charmingly  agreeable  sym- 
metry  " 

Here  he  paused,  lifting  farseeing,  shining  eyes.  Many 
a  time  he  had  spied  a  slim  little  girl  who  came  out  upon 
one  of  the  fire  escapes  opposite.  The  little  girl's  hair  was 
black  anofvwavy,  and  tHe  wind  tossed  it  upon  her  shoulders 
as  she  looked  around.  She  seldom  glanced  over  at  John- 
nie, and  to  gain  her  attention  he  had  to  Hoo-hoo  to  her. 
Once  he  had  shown  her  that  pillow  so  cherished  by  Cis, 
which  was  covered  with  bright  cretonne.  He  had  seen  the 
little  girl's  white  teeth  flash  then,  and  knew  that  she  was 
smiling. 

She  was  like  the  Princess  Buddir  al  Buddoor,  dark,  and 
red-lipped.  And  how  kind  she  was!  For  she  had  never 
seemed  to  notice  anything  wrong  with  either  his  hair  or  his 
clothes.  He  could  understand  how  Aladdin  felt  about  the 
sultan's  daughter,  who  was  so  lovely — all  but  her  name! 

He  was  deep  in  the  story  again  when  a  plump  hand  in- 
terrupted by  covering  his  page.  So  shut  were  his  ears 
against  every  sound,  inside  and  out,  that  he  had  not  heard 
Mrs.  Kukor  enter.  Now  she  held  up  something  before 
his  face.  It  was  the  alarm  clock. 

Next  after  Big  Tom  and  his  own  hair  he  hated  the  clock 
most.  It  was  forever  rousing  him  of  a  morning  when  he 


THE  DEAREST  WISH  55 

onged  to  sleep.  Also,  the  clock  acted  as  a  sort  of  vicar 
;o  Barber.  Its  round,  flat,  bald  face  stared  hard  at  John- 
lie  as  its  rasping  staccato  warned  him  boldly.  More  than 
mce  he  had  gone  up  to  the  noisy  timepiece,  taken  it  from 
ts  place  on  the  cupboard  shelf,  and  given  it  a  good  shak- 

ng- 

"So!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kukor.  She  set  the  clock  down 
md  reached  for  the  book.  "I  keeps  him  by  me.  To- 
norrow,  sooner  you  wass  finish  mit  your  work,  he  comes 
iown  again  by  the  basket." 

"Oh,  but  I  can  hide  it !"  urged  Johnnie,  illustrating  his 
irgument  at  the  same  time.  "And,  oh,  gee,  Mrs.  Kukor! 
['m  the  luckiest  kid  in  N'York !" 

"Supper,"  pronounced  Mrs.  Kukor,  seeing  that  the 
x>ok  was  indeed  well  hidden  and  would  bring  no  fresh 
troubles  upon  that  yellow  head  that  day. 

And  it  did  not.  For  at  suppertime,  when  Barlfcr  loomed 
in  the  doorway  once  more,  the  teakettle  was  on  the  stove, 
and  waddling  from  side  to  side  very  much  in  the  manner 
:>f  Mrs.  Kukor,  the  kitchen  was  filled  with  the  fruity  aroma 
af  stewing  prunes,  and  Johnnie,  with  several  saucers  of 
bright-hued  beads  before  him,  was  busy  at  his  stringing — 
a,  task  which,  being  mechanical,  could  be  performed  with- 
out conscious  effort.  And  he  was  so  engrossed  over  his 
saucers  that  Barber  had  to  speak  to  him  twice  before  the 
boy  started  up  from  his  chair,  letting  the  beads  impaled 
on  his  long  needle  slip  off  and  patter  upon  the  floor  like 
so  much  gay-colored  sleet. 

Barber  gave  a  satisfied  look  around.  "All  right — set 
your  table,"  he  commanded. 

Johnnie  obeyed.  But  this  was  a  task  which  was  not 
mechanical.  And  with  his  thoughts  still  on  the  high 
hopes  and  plans  of  that  other  boy,  he  put  two  knives  at 
one  plate,  two  forks  at  another.  But  it  was  all  done  with 
such  promptness,  with  such  a  quick,  light  step  and  eager, 


56  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

smiling  eye,  that  Barber,  remarking  the  swiftness  and  the 
spirit  Johnnie  showed,  for  once  omitted  to  harangue  him 
for  his  mistakes. 

Cis  was  more  discerning  than  her  stepfather.  When 
she  came  slipping  in,  the  boy's  rapt  expression  told  her 
that  his  thoughts  were  on  something  outside  the  flat.  She 
was  not  curious,  being  used  to  seeing  him  look  so  detached. 
However,  supper  done  with,  and  Barber  out  of  the  kitchen, 
putting  his  father  to  bed,  she  gleaned  that  something  un- 
usual had  happened.  For  as  they  were  washing  and  set- 
ting away  the  dishes,  he  leaned  close  to  ask  her  the  strang- 
est question. 

"Cis,"  he  whispered,  "what's  p-h-y-s-i-o-g-n-o-m-i-s-t?" 

She  turned  her  head  to  stare ;  and  knit  her  young  brows, 
wondering  and  puzzled,  not  at  the  question  itself,  but  at 
what  lay  behind  it.  The  bedroom  door  was  open.  She 
dared  n*b  venture  a  counter  question.  "Start  it  again," 
she  whispered  back. 

He  named  the  letters  through  a  second  time.  "It's  a 
long  word,"  he  conceded.  "It  takes  all  of  my  fingers,  and 
then  one  thumb  and  two  fingers  over.  What  does  it  spell  ?" 

Cis's  lips  were  pressed  tight.  They  twitched  a  bit,  to 
keep  back  with  some  effort  what  she  had  on  her  mind. 
When  they  parted  at  last,  she  nodded  wisely.  "You  never 
got  that  word  out  of  my  speller,"  she  declared;  "nor  off 
of  any  paper  bag  from  the  grocer's."  Which  was  to  say 
that  she  did  not  know  what  all  those  letters  spelled,  but 
that  she  was  fully  aware  he  had  a  good  deal  to  tell  her. 

Johnnie  had  already  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would 
not  share  his  precious  secret  with  her.  He  feared  to. 
Barber  had  never  allowed  Cis  to  bring  home  books,  regard- 
ing all  printed  matter  as  a  waste  of  time.  And  Cis  had 
a  way  of  obeying  Barber  strictly;  also  she  often  pleaded 
conscience  and  duty  in  matters  of  this  kind.  And  to  John- 
nie any  consideration  for  Barber's  wishes  or  opinions,  ex- 


THE  DEAREST  WISH  57 

cept  the  little  that  was  forced  by  fear  of  the  strap,  was 
silly,  girlish,  and  terribly  trying. 

He  admired  Mrs.  Kukor's  stand.  Backed  by  her,  he 
meant  to  keep  the  book  and  read  it  every  minute  he  could. 
So  with  Big  Tom  once  more  in  the  kitchen,  having  an  after- 
supper  pipe  in  the  morris  chair,  Johnnie  ignored  Cis's 
silent  invitation  to  join  her  in  the  window,  and  brought 
his  bedding  from  her  room,  spreading  it  out  ostentatiously 
beside  the  stove.  Then  having  filled  the  teakettle  and 
stirred  the  breakfast  cereal  into  the  big,  black  pot,  he 
flung  himself  down  upon  his  mattress  with  a  weary  grunt. 

Barber  smiled.  The  boy  was  tired.  For  once  some  real 
work  had  been  done  around  the  place.  "You  better  git  t* 
bed  early,  too,"  he  remarked  to  Cis.  As  advice  from  him 
always  amounted  to  a  command,  she  disappeared  at  once. 
Presently  Big  Tom  got  up,  stretched  his  gorilla  arms, 
yawned  with  a  descending  scale  of  Oh's,  and  weJt  lumber- 
ing to  bed. 

A  wait — which  to  Johnnie  seemed  interminable,  while 
idusk  thickened  to  darkness ;  then  snores.  The  snoring 
continued  all  the  while  he  was  counting  up  to  four  hun- 
dred. Also  it  achieved  a  regularity  and  loudness  that 
guaranteed  it  to  be  genuine.  Still  Johnnie  did  not  open 
his  eyes.  There  were  little  movements  in  Cis's  room,  and 
he  felt  sure  she  was  not  asleep.  Soon  he  had  proof  of  it. 
For  peering  up  carefully  from  under  lowered  lids,  he  saw 
her  door  slowly  open ;  next,  she  came  to  stand  in  it,  dimly 
outlined  in  her  faded  cotton  kimono. 

She  had  something  white  in  one  hand.  This  she  waved 
up  and  down  in  a  noiseless  signal.  He  did  not  stir.  She 
stole  forward,  bent  down,  and  touched  him.  He  went  on 
breathing  deep  and  steadily.  She  tiptoed  back  to  her 
bed. 

As  patiently  as  possible  he  waited  till  the  sound  of  her 
regular  breathing  could  be  heard  between  Barber's  rasp- 


58  THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR   BOY 

ing  snores.  Then  he  sat  up.  So  long  as  he  had  been  able 
to  read,  he  had  thought  of  nothing  but  reading.  But  with 
the  book  put  away  there  had  come  to  him  a  wonderful 
plan — a  plan  that  made  his  bony  little  spine  gooseflesh: 
He  would  rub  Barber's  old  kitchen  lamp! 

Seldom  used,  it  stood  on  a  cupboard  shelf  beside  the 
clock.  Fairly  holding  his  breath,  he  got  to  his  feet  and 
crept  across  the  floor.  Inch  by  inch,  cautiously,  his  hand 
felt  its  way  to  the  right  shelf,  found  the  lamp,  grasped 
the  glass  standard.  But  the  table  was  the  only  proper 
place  for  the  experiment.  He  carried  the  lamp  there  and 
set  it  down,  his  heart  beating  hard  under  the  pleats  of  his 
shirt. 

Then  he  considered  what  his  course  of  action  should 
be.  If  Big  Tom's  old  lamp  chanced  to  possess  even  a 
scrap  of  that  power  peculiar  to  the  lamp  of  Aladdin:  if, 
when  he  i^bbed  the  none  too  clean  glass  base,  some  genie 
were  to  appear,  asking  for  orders — what  should  he  com- 
mand? 

It  came  to  him  then  that  what  He  wanted  most  in  all 
the  world  was  not  bags  of  money,  not  dishes  of  massy  gold, 
or  rich  robes,  or  slaves,  but  only  freedom.  He  wanted  to 
get  away  from  the  flat;  to  leave  behind  him  forever  the 
hated  longshoreman. 

"If  the  great  big  feller  comes  when  I  rub,"  he  told  him- 
self, "I'll  say  t'  him,  'Take  Grandpa  and  Cis  and  me  as  far 
away  as — as  Central  Park' "  (this  a  region  of  delight 
into  which  he  had  peeped  when  he  was  three  or  four  years 
old,  under  escort  of  his  Aunt  Sophie) .  "  'And  leave  us 
in  a  flat  as  good  as  this  one.' " 

With  Big  Tom  out  of  his  life,  oh,  how  hie  would  work ! — 
violet-making,  bead-stringing,  and,  yes,  boarders!  He 
could  fetch  Grandpa's  bed  out  into  the  new  kitchen,  and 
put  three  roomers  into  the  little  bedroom,  just  as  several 
tenants  in  this  building  did.  And  what  he  could  earn* 


THE  DEAREST  WISH  59 

added  to  Cis's  wages  at  some  factory,  and  Grandpa's  pen- 
sion (this  a  princely  income  which  was  now  regularly 
clrawn  and  spent  by  Big  Tom)  would  take  care  of  the 
three  splendidly. 

Having  settled  upon  the  supreme  wish,  and  fairly  hold- 
ing his  breath,  he  reached  out  in  the  darkness  and  rubbed 
the  lamp. 

Nothing  happened. 

He  waited  a  little.  In  this  lamp  business  perhaps  time 
figured  prominently ;  though  his  own  friends — Buckle,  the 
Four  millionaires,  David,  Goliath,  the  Prince,  and  any 
lumber  of  others  always  appeared  in  the  kitchen  promptly. 

But  no  genie  of  the  lamp  arrived.  To  make  sure  that 
lis  test  was  fair,  he  rubbed  the  lamp  a  second  time,  all 
the  way  around.  Still  no  huge,  hideous,  helpful  figure 
doomed  out  of  the  dark. 

He  grinned  sheepishly,  tugged  at  his  hair  a  lew  times, 
then  went  back  to  his  mattress  and  sat  down.  He  was  not 
disappointed,  for  though  he  had  been  hopeful,  he  had  not 
aeen  over-sure.  And,  anyhow,  he  had  his  book.  He  lifted 
it  out,  placed  it  upon  his  knees,  and  rested  his  forehead 
upon  it.  And  the  next  moment,  as  if  whisked  to  him  by  a 
srenie  all  his  own,  Cathay  was  about  him ;  and  he  was  with 
the  boy,  Aladdin,  plunging  down  a  flight  of  steps  on  his 
pray  to  a  garden  that  yielded  fruit  which  was  all  diamonds 
and  rubies  and  pearls. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  SERIOUS  STEP 

HE  awoke  with  such  a  feeling  of  happiness — a  flut- 
tery  feeling,  which  was  in  his  throat,  and  also 
just  at  the  lower  end  of  his  breastbone,  where  he 
seemed  to  have  so  many  kinds  of  sensations.     For  a  mo- 
ment he  did  not  remember  what  made  him  so  happy.    But 
as  he  moved,  something  hard  pressed  against  his   ribs, 
whereupon  the  fluttery  feeling  suddenly  spread  over  the 
whole  of  ijim,  so  that  the  calves  of  those  lead-pipe  legs  got 
creepy,  and  his  shoulder-blades  tingled.     Then  he  knew 
it  was  all  because  of  the  book. 

The  process  of  getting  up  of  a  morning  was  always  a 
simple  one.  As  he  slept  in  his  big  clothes,  all  he  had  to  do 
was  scramble  to  his  feet,  roll  up  his  bedding,  splash  a 
little  water  upon  the  central  portion  of  his  countenance, 
dry  it  away  with  the  apron,  and  put  the  apron  on. 

As  a  rule  he  never  so  much  as  stirred  till  Barber  or  the 
alarm  clock  sounded  an  order.  But  on  this  happy  morn- 
ing he  did  not  wait  for  orders,  but  rose  promptly,  though 
it  still  wanted  more  than  half  an  hour  to  getting-up  time. 
He  did  yet  another  unusual  thing;  noiselessly,  so  as  not 
to  wake  any  one,  he  set  his  bedding  foil  on  end  just  out- 
side the  door  of  Cis's  room,  then  returned  to  the  table, 
drew  out  the  drawer,  chose  a  saucer  of  rose-colored  beads, 
and  fell  to  threading  them  swiftly.  He  had  two  ideas  in 
mind:  first,  after  yesterday's  unpleasant  experience,  he 
was  anxious  to  make  a  good  impression  upon  Big  Tom; 

60 


A   SERIOUS    STEP  61 

second,  and  principally,  he  was  stringing  now,  when  he 
dared  not  read,  in  order  that,  later  on,  he  might  be  free 
to  enjoy  his  book. 

He  held  the  long  needle  in  his  right  hand.  He  poked 
the  beads  to  the  needle's  tip  with  the  forefinger  of  his 
left.  He  used  his  tongue,  too,  after  a  fashion,  for  if  a 
bead  was  obstinate  his  tongue  tip  sometimes  helped — by 
curling  itself  noseward  over  his  upper  lip.  Before  now 
he  had  always  thought  of  rose-colored  beads  as  future 
rose-colored  roses  in  the  beautiful  purses  that  Mrs.  Kukor 
made.  But  now  the  beads  reminded  him  of  nothing  less 
than  that  strange  garden  laying  under  the  horizontal 
stone  in  China. 

He  took  out  all  of  his  saucers — the  pink,  the  green, 
the  brown,  the  gold,  the  blue,  the  burgundy,  the  white,  the 
black,  the  yellow — and  found  that  they  gave  him  a  new 
pleasure.  They  were  the  fruit  of  Aladdin's  garden,  and 
he  planned  to  offer  them  in  a  yellow  bowl  to  that  certain 
(dark-haired  little  girl.  "  'What  wouldst  thou  have?'  "  he 
quoted.  "  *I  am  ready  to  obey  thee  as  thy  slave,' " — a 
statement  that  he  considered  highly  appropriate.  His 
whispering  was  accompanied  by  gesticulations  that  bore 
no  relation  to  bead-stringing,  and  by  tossings  of  his  yel- 
low head. 

"Now  what  y'  mumblin*  about?"  demanded  Big  Tom. 
He  was  watching  from  the  bedroom  door,  and  his  look 
denied  that  Johnnie,  though  at  work,  was  making  any- 
thing like  a  good  impression ;  quite  the  contrary — for  Bar- 
ber's bloodshot  eyes  were  full  of  suspicion.  Should  a  boy 
who  always  had  to  be  watched  and  driven  suddenly  show  a 
desire  to  keep  busy?  "Breakfast  on?"  he  asked. 

Johnnie  sprang  up.  "I  didn't  want  to  make  no  noise," 
He  explained.  The  next  moment  lids  were  rattling  and 
coal  was  tumbling  upon  some  blazing  kindling  as  he  started 
the  morning  fire. 


62  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"A-a-a-ah !  What  y'  got  this  lamp  down  for  ?" — it  was 
the  next  question,  and  there  was  triumph  in  Big  Tom's 
voice.  "Been  wastin'  oil,  have  y'  ?  Come !  When  did  y* 
light  it  ?  Answer  up !" 

"I  didn't  light  it,"  replied  Johnnie,  calmly  glancing 
round,  his  chin  on  his  shoulders. 

"No?     Then  what  did  f  do?    Hey?    What?" 

"Just  took  it  down  V  rubbed  it." 

"M-m-m! — Well,  y'  made  a  poor  job  of  your  rubbin'. 
I'll  say  that !" 

"I'll  rub  it  again,"  said  Johnnie.  He  caught  up  the 
dish  towel  with  which  he  had  dried  his  own  face  and  set 
to  work  on  the  lamp.  There  was  a  faint  smile  on  his  lips 
as  he  worked.  There  was  a  smile  in  his  eyes,  too,  but  he 
kept  his  lids  discreetly  lowered. 

His  whole  manner  irritated  Barber,  wHo  sauntered  to 
the  table^took  a  careful  survey  of  it,  drew  out  the  drawer, 
looked  it  over,  then  dropped  into  the  morris  chair  to  pull 
on  his  socks.  Now  he  sensed,  as  had  Cis  the  day  before, 
that  the  air  of  the  flat  was  charged  with  something — 
something  that  was  strange  to  it.  He  did  not  guess  it  was 
happiness.  But  as  Johnnie  moved  quickly  between  sink 
and  stove,  between  cupboard  and  table,  Big  Tom  watched 
him,  and  thrust  out  that  lower  lip. 

While  the  business  of  breakfast  was  on,  instead  of  stand- 
ing up  to  the  table  for  his  bowl  of  oats,  Johnnie  made  sand- 
wiches for  the  two  lunches.  Hot  tea,  well  sugared,  went 
into  Barber's  pail.  Another  tin  compartment  Johnnie 
packed  with  the  cooked  prunes.  A  third  held  slabs  of 
corned-beef  between  bread.  Sour  pickles  were  added  to 
these  when  he  filled  Cis's  lunchbox,  which  closely  resembled 
a  camera.  And  now  the  wide-open,  fixed  look  of  his  eyes, 
the  uplift  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  his  swelled  nostrils 
and  his  buoyant  step  told  Cis  that  he  was  engaged  in  some 
adventure,  high  and  stirring. 


A   SERIOUS   STEP  63 

But  Barber,  slill  watching  tKe  boy  sh'arply,  ma'de  up 
his  mind  that  the  punishment  of  the  day  before  had  done 
a  lot  of  good.  In  fact,  it  seemed  to  have  brought  about  a 
complete  transformation.  For  during  the  two  or  three 
minutes  that  Big  Tom  allowed  himself  after  eating  for 
the  filling  of  his  pipe,  Johnnie  swept  the  table  clear, 
washed,  dried  and  put  away  the  dishes,  and  was  so  far 
along  with  his  morning's  work  that  he  was  wiping  off  tKe 
stove. 

Leaving,  Barber  omitted  his  usual  warnings  and  "direc- 
tions ;  and  did  not  even  wait  outside  the  door  for  a  final 
look  back,  but  went  promptly  down,  as  the  creaking  stairs 
testified,  and  out,  as  told  by  the  sucking  move  and  gentle 
rattle  of  the  hall  door. 

It  was  Cis  who  lingered.  When  the  flat  was  clear  of 
her  stepfather,  she  fairly  burst  from  her  tiny  room,  and 
halted  face  to  face  with  Johnnie,  from  whose  string  right 
hand  the  stove  rag  was  even  then  falling.  Her  eyes  botK 
questioned  and  challenged  him.  And  the  sudden  breaking 
of  his  countenance  into  a  radiant  grin,  at  one  and  at 
the  same  time,  answered  her — and  confessed. 

"Johnnie!"  she  whispered. 

He  stretched  up  to  her  pink  ear  to  answer,  for  Grandpa 
was  at  the  table,  still  busy  over  his  bowl.  "A  book,"  He 
whispered  back,  his  air  that  of  one  who  has  seen  the  dream 
of  a  lifetime  realized. 

"What?  What  kind  of  a  book?  [And  where'd  you  get 
it?  Show  it  to  me." 

He  went  into  the  little  closet.  When  he  came  out,  she 
went  in.  And  presently,  as  she  sauntered  into  the  kitchen 
once  more,  he  plunged  past  her  and  the  tiny  room  received 
him  a  second  time — all  of  which  was  according  to  a  method 
they  had  worked  out  long  ago.  He  was  up-headed,  and 
his  eyes  sparkled  as  he  unpinned  a  towel  from  under 
Grandpa's  chin  and  trundled  the  wEeel  chair  back  from 


64.  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

tHe  table.      His   look  said  that  He  defied  all   criticism. 

She  reached  for  the  camera-box.  Her  manner  wholly 
lacked  enthusiasm.  "I  guess  it's  a  good  story,"  she  con- 
ceded kindly.  "I  heard  about  it  lots  when  I  was  in  school. 
But,  my!  It's  so  raggy!" 

"Raggy !"  scoffed  Johnnie.  "Huh !  I  don't  care  what 
iUoofrslike!" 

When  she,  too,  was  gone,  he  omitted  his  usual  taking  of 
the  air  at  the  window.  He  even  denied  himself  the  pleasure 
of  calling  up  his  four  millionaires  and  telling  them  of  his 
good  fortune.  The  main  business  of  the  day  was  the  book. 
Would  Aladdin's  order  for  a  palace,  complete,  be  carried 
out?  Would  that  ambitious  Celestial  marry  the  Princess 
of  his  choice?  Johnnie  could  scarcely  wait  to  know. 

Following  a  course  that  he  had  found  good  these  sev- 
eral years  past,  he  wound  the  alarm  clock  a  few  times  and 
set  it  to  ring  sharp  at  four  in  the  afternoon — which  would 
give  him  more  than  a  full  hour  in  which  to  wash  Grandpa, 
make  the  beds  and  sweep  before  Big  Tom's  return.  This 
done,  he  opened  the  book  on  the  table,  dug  a  hand  into  his 
tousled  mop,  and  began  to  read — to  read  as  he  might  have 
drunk  if  thirst  were  torturing  him,  and  a  cool,  deep  cup 
were  at  his  lips.  For  the  book  was  to  him  really  a  draught 
which  quenched  a  longing  akin  to  thirst;  it  was  a  potion 
that  gave  him  new  life. 

As  the  story  of  stories  unfolded  itself,  step  by  step,  the 
ragged  street  urchin  whose  father  had  been  a  poor  tailor, 
attained  to  great  heights — to  wealth  and  success  and 
power.  Johnnie  gloried  in  it  all,  seeing  such  results  as 
future  possibilities  of  his  own,  and  not  forgetting  to  re- 
mark how  kind,  through  all  the  upward  trending  of  for- 
tune, Aladdin  had  been  to  his  mother  (though  he,  himself, 
did  not  pause  in  his  enjoyment  of  the  tale  to  take  the  regu- 
lar train  trip  with  Grandpa) . 

Twice  during  the  morning  the  old  soldier,  by  whimpering 


A    SERIOUS    STEP  65 

insistently,  brought  himself  to  Johnnie's  attention.  But 
the  moment  Grandpa  was  waited  upon,  back  Johnnie  went 
to  his  book,  and  page  was  turned  upon  page  as  the  black 
magic  of  the  hateful  African  wafted  that  most  perfect  of 
palaces  many  a  league  from  its  original  site,  and  separated 
for  his  own  wicked  purposes  the  loving  Aladdin  and  his 
idevoted  Buddir  al  Buddoor. 

And  then — all  of  a  sudden — and  for  no  reason  that 
Johnnie  could  name,  but  as  if  some  good  genie  of  his  own 
were  watching  over  him,  and  had  whispered  a  warning, 
he  cast  off  the  enthrallment  of  Asia,  stopped  dragging  at 
his  hair,  started  to  his  feet,  slid  the  book  under  his  collar- 
band,  and  took  stock  of  the  time. 

It  was  twelve.  Indeed,  the  noon  whistles  were  just  be- 
ginning to  blow.  But  they  and  the  clock  did  not  reassure 
him.  He  had  been  dimly  aware,  the  past  hour  or  so,  of  a 
strange  state  of  quiet  overhead.  That  awarentls  now  re- 
solved itself  into  a  horrible  fear — the  fear  that,  in  spite  of 
lunches  put  up  and  a  clock  wound  to  clang  at  four  in  the 
afternoon,  the  day  was — Saturday ! 

"Gee!"  breathed  Johnnie,  and  paled  to  a  sickly  white. 

His  first  thought  was  to  make  sure  one  way  or  another. 
Scurrying  to  the  window,  he  pushed  it  up,  hung  out  of  it 
toward  the  Gamboni  casement,  and  called  to  a  sleek  head 
that  at  this  time  of  the  day  was  almost  certain  to  be 
bobbing  in  sight.  There  it  was,  and  "What  day  is  this, 
Mrs.  Gamboni  ?"  he  demanded.  "Quick !  Is  it  Saturday  ?" 

Hsir 

Saturday !    A  half-day !    Barber! 

He  threw  himself  backward,  then  stood  for  a  moment, 
panic-stricken.  Of  course  it  was  Saturday.  Which  ex- 
plained why  Mrs.  Kukor  was  out.  Oh,  why  had  she  not 
stopped  by  on  her  way  to  church?  Oh,  why  had  he  left 
any  of  his  work  undone?  Oh,  for  some  genie  to  finish  it 


66  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

all  up  in  a  second!  Oh,  for  some  Slave  of  a  Ring  or  a 
Lamp! 

"Gee !"  he  breathed  again.  "This  was  the  shortest  Sat- 
urday mornin*  in  the  world!" 

There  now  came  to  the  fore  the  practical  side  of  his 
nature.  He  knew  he  must  do  one  of  two  things :  stay,  and 
take  the  whipping  that  Big  Tom  would  surely  give  him, 
or — go. 

What  had  heretofore  kept  him  from  going  was  the  fact 
that  he  had  no  clothes.  By  the  end  of  his  first  year  in  the 
flat,  the  little  suit  he  had  been  wearing  when  he  came  was 
in  utter  rags.  Big  Tom  had  bought  him  no  new  suit,  de- 
claring that  he  could  not  afford  it.  So  Johnnie  had  had 
to  decide  between  putting  on  some  of  Cis's  old  garments  or 
Barber's  mammoth  cast-offs.  He  chose  the  latter,  which 
Mrs.  Kukor  offered  to  alter,  but  Barber  refused  her  help. 
And  she  ISiew  at  once  what  Johnnie  did  not  guess:  the 
longshoreman  wanted  the  boy  to  appear  ridiculous. 

The  plan  worked.  The  first  time  Johnnie  had  ventured 
into  the  area  wearing  his  baggy  breeches  and  a  voluminous 
shirt,  the  boys  who  had  from  the  first  called  "Girl's  hair !" 
at  him  changed  their  taunt  to  "Old  clothes !"  It  had  sent 
him  scurrying  back  into  the  flat,  and  it  had  kept  him  there, 
so  that  Big  Tom  had  some  one  to  look  after  Grandpa 
steadily,  and  bring  in  a  small  wage  besides. 

But  now  not  even  the  likelihood  of  being  mocked  for  his 
ragged  misfits  could  keep  Johnnie  back.  Darting  into  the 
hall,  he  crouched  in  the  dark  passage  a  moment  to  listen, 
his  heart  pounding  so  hard  that  he  could  hear  it ;  then  cer- 
tain that  the  way  was  yet  clear,  he  straddled  the  banisters 
and,  with  his  two  strong  hands  to  steady  him  and  act  as  a 
brake  to  his  speed,  took  the  three  flights  to  the  ground 
floor. 

As  Big  Tom  usually  entered  the  area  by  the  tunnel-like 
hall  that  led  in  from  the  main  street  to  the  south,  Johnnie 


A    SERIOUS    STEP  67 

headed  north,  first  taking  care  to  glance  out  into  the  area 
before  he  charged  across  it,  blinded  by  its  glare  after  the 
semidark  of  the  Barber  rooms.  He  was  hatless.  His 
hair  and  his  fringe  flew.  His  feet  flew,  too,  as  if  the  long- 
shoreman were  at  their  horny  little  heels. 

The  north  tunnel  gained,  he  scampered  along  it.  As  he 
idodged  out  of  it,  and  westward,  again  the  glare  of  the 
outdoors  blinded  him,  so  that  he  did  not  see  a  crowd  that 
was  ahead  of  him — a  crowd  made  up  wholly  of  boys. 

He  plunged  among  the  lot.  Instantly  a  joyous  wrangle 
of  cries  went  up :  "Girl's  hair !  Girl's  hair !  Old  clothes  ! 
Old  clothes !"  A  water-pistol  discharged  a  chill  stream 
into  his  face.  Hands  seized  him,  tearing  at  his  rags. 

Savagely  he  battled  at  the  center  of  the  mob,  hitting, 
kicking,  biting.  His  sight  cleared,  and  he  made  the  blows 
of  his  big  hands  tell.  "Leave  me  alone!"  he  screamed. 
"Leave  me  alone !" 

The  crowd  doubled  as  men  and  women  rushed  up  to  see 
what  the  excitement  was  all  about.  Then  hands  laid  hold 
of  Johnnie's  tormentors,  hauling  them  back,  and  suddenly 
he  found  himself  free.  Once  more  he  took  to  his  heels,  and 
panting,  dripping,  scarlet  and  more  ragged  than  before, 
jhe  fled  ignominiously. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

MORE  TREASURES 

WHEN  He  had  put  half  a  dozen  blocks  behind  him, 
he  slackened  his  pace,  took  a  quick  look  into  sev- 
eral doorways,  chose  one  that  promised  seclusion, 
clove  into  it,  got  his  breath  back,  made  sure  that  the 
precious  book  was  safe,  and  then  indulged  himself  in  a 
grin  that  was  all  relief. 

The  grif.  narrowed  as  he  remembered  that  Grandpa  was 
alone  in  the  flat.  "Oh,  but  Big  Tom  or  Mrs.  Kukor'll  be 
home  soon,"  he  reflected;  and  comforted  his  conscience 
further  by  vowing  that,  given  good  luck,  he  would  in  no 
time  be  in  a  position  to  return  for  the  purpose  of  enticing 
away  both  Cis  and  the  old  soldier  (men  are  men,  and  in  the 
stress  of  the  moment  he  did  not  give  a  thought  to  that  slim, 
little,  dark-haired  girl) .  He  could  not  help  but  feel  hope- 
ful regarding  his  plans.  Had  not  just  such  adventuring 
as  this  accomplished  wonderful  results  for  his  new  friend, 
Aladdin,  a  boy  as  poor  as  himself? 

He  did  not  stay  long  in  the  doorway.  He  felt  sure  that 
the  moment  Barber  returned  a  search  of  the  neighborhood 
would  be  made,  during  which  people  would  be  questioned. 
Discretion  urged  that  more  blocks  be  put  between  the  flat 
and  that  small  back  which  so  dreaded  the  strap.  So  off  he 
went  once  more — at  a  lively  trot. 

Though  during  the  last  five  years  he  had  not  once  been 
so  far  away  from  the  area  as  this,  he  was  not  frightened. 
A  city-bred  boy,  he  felt  as  much  at  ease,  scuttling  along, 

68 


MORE  TREASURES  69 

as  a  fish  in  its  native  waters,  or  a  rabbit  in  its  own  warren. 
He  had  taken  a  westward  direction  because  he  knew  that 
the  other  way  East  River  lay  close,  shutting  off  flight. 
Now  he  began  to  read  the  street  signs.  Cis  had  often 
talked  of  a  great  thoroughfare  which  cut  the  city  into  two 
unequal  parts — a  one-time  road,  she  said  it  was,  and  so 
long  that  it  ran  through  other  cities.  This  was  the  street 
Johnnie  wanted — being  the  one  he  had  heard  most  about. 
It  was  a  street  called  Broadway. 

As  he  traveled,  he  passed  other  dirty,  ragged,  little  boys. 
His  head  was  the  yellowest  of  them  all,  his  clothes  were 
the  poorest.  But  he  was  scarcely  noticed.  The  occasional 
patrolman  did  not  more  than  glance  at  him.  And  he  was 
fully  as  indifferent.  At  his  Aunt  Sophie's,  a  policeman — 
by  name  Mike  Callaghan — had  been  a  frequent  visitor, 
when  he  was  wont  to  lay  off  not  only  his  cap  but  his  coat 
as  well,  and  sit  around  bareheaded  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
smoking.  This  glimpse  of  an  officer  of  the  law,  shorn,  as  it 
were,  of  his  dignity,  had  made  Johnnie  realize,  even  as  a 
babe,  that  policemen  are  but  mortals  after  all,  as  ready  to 
be  pleased  with  a  wedge  of  pie  as  any  youngster,  and  given 
to  the  wearing  of  ordinary  striped  percale  shirts  under 
their  majestic  blue.  So  Johnnie  was  neither  in  awe  of, 
nor  feared,  them. 

What  he  did  keep  a  fearsome  eye  out  for  was  any  man 
who  might  be  an  African  magician.  That  he  would  know 
such  a  man  he  felt  sure,  having  a  fair  idea  from  a  picture 
in  his  book  of  the  robe,  headdress,  sandals  and  beard 
proper  to  magicians  in  general.  But  though  he  was  alert 
enough  as  he  traveled,  the  only  unusual-looking  person  he 
met  up  with  was  a  man  with  a  peg  leg  and  a  tray  of  shoe- 
laces. 

That  peg  leg  frightened  him.  For  a  moment  he  was  in- 
clined to  take  to  his  heels,  certain  that  this  was  the  same 
wooden-legged  man  who  gave  Cis  fruit.  Then  the  tray 


70  THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR   BOY 

reassured  him.  Shoelaces  were  one  thing;  fruit  was  an- 
other. And  even  if  this  one-legged  man  were  full  brother 
to  the  one-legged  man  of  the  fruitstand  (Johnnie  took  for 
granted  a  whole  one-legged  family),  he  himself  would  be 
far  away  before  any  member  of  that  family  could  get  in 
touch  with  Barber. 

It  was  while  he  was  boldly  inspecting  the  shoe-lace  man's 
peg  leg  that  he  discovered  he  was  in  Broadway,  this  by 
reading  the  name  of  the  street  on  the  front  of  a  passing 
car.  "Gee !"  he  exclaimed,  taking  a  good  look  up  and  down 
the  thoroughfare. 

Now  he  began  really  to  enjoy  himself.  He  pattered 
leisurely  along,  stopping  at  this  window  and  that,  or  leaned 
against  a  convenient  water  plug  to  watch  the  traffic  stream 
by. 

He  was  resting,  and  gazing  about  him,  when  the  wagon 
driver  came  up.  The  driver  was  a  colored  youth  in  a 
khaki  shirt  and  an  overseas  cap,  and  his  wagon  was  a 
horseless  affair,  huge  and  covered.  The  colored  man,  halt- 
ing his  truck  to  let  a  cross  current  of  vehicles  pass,  daz- 
zled Johnnie  with  a  good-natured  smile. 

Johnnie  grinned  back.  "You  goin'  up  Broadway?"  he 
asked,  with  a  jerk  of  his  head  toward  the  north. 

"All  the  way  up  t'  Haa'lem,"  answered  the  black  man, 
cordially.  "Climb  aboa'd !" 

There  was  a  loop  of  chain  hanging  down  from  the  end- 
board  of  the  truck.  Johnnie  guided  a  foot  through  it 
stirrup-wise  and  reared  himself  into  an  empty  wagonbed. 
Then  as  the  wheels  began  to  turn,  he  faced  round,  knelt 
comfortably,  and  let  Broadway  swiftly  drop  behind. 

He  could  not  see  all  the  new  and  engrossing  sights  that 
offered  themselves  in  the  wake  of  the  truck  and  to  both 
sides.  His  ears  were  packed  with  strange  noises.  Yet 
entertained  as  he  was,  from  time  to  time  he  took  note  of 


MORE   TREASURES  71 

the  cross  streets — Eighth,  then  Tenth,  next,  busy  Four- 
teenth. 

From  time  to  time  the  colored  man  took  note  of  him. 
"You-all  thay  yit?"  he  would  sing-  out  over  a  shoulder; 
or,  "Have  Ah  done  los'  you,  kid  ?"  Upon  being  reassured, 
he  would  return  to  his  problem  of  nosing  a  way  along  with 
other  vehicles,  large  and  small,  and  Johnnie  would  once 
more  be  left  to  his  fascinating  survey. 

At  Twentieth,  he  very  nearly  fell  out  on  that  shining 
head,  this  at  catching  sight  of  a  mounted  patrolman.  No 
figure  in  his  beloved  book  seemed  more  splendid  to  him 
than  this  one,  so  noble  and  martial  and  proud.  Here  was 
a  guardian  of  the  peace  who  was  obviously  no  common 
mortal.  Then  and  there,  as  the  mounted  dropped  grad- 
ually into  the  background,  Johnnie  determined  that  should 
he  ever  be  rich  enough,  or  if  hard  work  and  fdudy  could 
accomplish  it,  he  would  be  a  mounted  policeman. 

At  Twenty-third  Street,  Broadway  suddenly  took  a 
sharp  turn — toward  the  right.  Also,  it  got  wider,  and 
noticeably  cleaner.  More:  suddenly  confronted  with  the 
gigantic,  three-cornered  building  standing  there,  a  struc- 
ture with  something  of  the  height  and  beauty  of  his  own 
dream  edifices,  he  realized  that  he  was  now  entering  the 
true  New  York.  This  was  more  like  it !  Here  was  space 
and  wealth  and  grandeur.  Oh,  how  different  was  this 
famous  street  from  either  of  those  which  gave  to  the 
building  in  the  area ! 

Then  he  discovered  that  he  was  not  traveling  a  street 
at  all!  He  was  skimming  along  an  avenue.  And  it  was 
none  other  than  Fifth  Avenue,  for  the  signs  at  corners 
plainly  said  so.  Fifth  Avenue!  The  wonderful,  stylish 
boulevard  which  Cis  mentioned  almost  reverently.  And 
he  was  in  it! 

The  next  moment  he  was  truly  in  it.  For  at  sight  of  a 
window  which  the  truck  was  passing,  and  without  even 


72  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

stopping  to  call  to  the  driver,  Johnnie  dropped  himself 
over  the  end-board  to  the  smooth  concrete.  The  window 
was  no  larger  than  many  a  one  he  had  glimpsed  during 
the  long  drive  northward.  What  drew  him  toward  it,  as 
if  it  were  a  powerful  magnet,  was  the  fact  that  it  was  full 
of  books. 

"My !"  he  whispered  as  he  gained  the  sidewalk  in  front 
of  the  window.  There  were  books  standing  on  end  in 
curving  rows.  There  were  others  in  great  piles.  A  few 
lay  flat.  It  had  never  occurred  to  him,  shut  up  so  long  in 
a  flat  without  any  book  save  the  telephone  directory,  that 
there  could  be  so  many  books  in  the  whole  of  New  York. 
And  all  were  so  new!  and  had  such  fresh,  untorn  covers! 

He  had  stood  before  the  window  quite  some  time,  his 
eyes  going  from  book  to  book  thoughtfully,  while  one  hand 
tugged  at^his  hair,  and  the  other,  thrust  into  his  shirt 
front,  caressed  his  own  dear  volume,  when  he  became  con- 
scious of  the  near  presence  of  two  people,  a  man  and  a 
woman.  The  woman  was  the  nearer  of  the  two.  On  glanc- 
ing up  at  her,  he  found  her  looking  down.  That  embar- 
rassed him,  and  he  stopped  pulling  at  his  hair. 

She  smiled.    "Do  you  like  books,  little  boy?"  she  asked. 

He  nodded.    "More'n  ant/thing!"  he  declared  fervently. 

A  pause;  then,  "Would  you  like  to  have  a  book?"  she 
asked  next. 

At  that,  pride  and  covetousness  struggled  for  first 
place  in  him.  Pride  won.  He  straddled  both  feet  a  bit 
wider  and  thrust  a  thumb  into  his  belt. .  "I've  got  a  book," 
he  answered. 

So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  he  thought  his  remark  com- 
monplace, ordinary — certainly  not  at  all  amusing.  But 
there  was  never  any  telling  how  this  thing  or  that  would 
strike  a  grown-up.  The  man's  mouth  popped  open  and 
he  exploded  a  loud  laugh,  followed  by  a  second  and  louder. 


MORE  TREASURES  78 

"Sh!  sh!"  admonished  the  woman,  glancing  at  John- 
nie. 

"It's  old,  but  it's  always  good,"  protested  the  man, 
half  apologetically. 

Along  with  his  boasting,  Johnnie  had  drawn  Aladdin 
forward  to  the  opening  in  his  shirt.  Evidently  the  man  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  that  torn  cover.  Now  the  boy  hastily 
poked  the  book  to  a  place  under  one  arm.  "It  is  old,"  he 
conceded.  "But  that  don't  hurt  it — 7  don't  mind.'  ' 

"Of  course,  you  don't !"  chimed  in  the  woman,  heartily. 
"A  book's  a  book  as  long  as  it  holds  together.  Besides 
some  books  are  more  valuable  as  they  get  older." 

"Sure !"  agreed  Johnnie. 

She  left  them  and  went  inside.  And  Johnnie  found 
himself  being  stared  at  by  the  man. 

The  man  was  a  millionaire.  Johnnie  noted  |his  with  a 
start.  He  had  a  way  of  recognizing  millionaires.  When 
he  lived  with  his  Aunt  Sophie,  his  Uncle  Albert  was  the 
chauffeur  of  one.  On  the  two  occasions  when  that  wealthy 
gentleman  showed  himself  at  his  red-brick  garage  in  Fifty- 
fifth  Street,  he  wore  a  plush  hat,  dark  blue  in  color,  and 
an  overcoat  with  a  fur  collar.  This  short,  stout  stranger 
before  the  window  wore  the  same. 

But  he  was  as  friendly  as  possible,  for  he  continued  the 
conversation.  "Nice  looking  lot  of  books,"  he  observed. 
"Don't  you  think  so?" 

Johnnie  nodded  again.  "What  kind  of  a  place  would  y* 
call  this  ?"  he  inquired. 

"A  store,"  informed  the  other.  Now  he  stared  harder 
than  ever,  so  that  Johnnie  grew  uneasy  under  the  scrutiny, 
and  began  to  consider  rounding  the  nearest  corner  to  get 
away.  "Never  seen  a  bookstore  before,  eh?" 

Johnnie  shook  his  head.  "Don't  have  'em  where  I  live," 
he  explained. 

"No?    And  where  do  you  live?" 


74  THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR   BOY 

Johnnie  felt  more  uneasy  than  ever.  He  determined  to 
be  vague.  "Me?  Oh,  just  over  that  way,"  he  answered, 
with  a  swing  of  the  arm  that  took  in  a  full  quarter  of 
the  horizon — including  all  territory  from  Beekman  Place 
to  the  Aquarium. 

The  woman  rejoined  them.  In  one  hand  she  carried  a 
book.  It  was  a  blue  book,  not  quite  so  large  as  the  story 
of  Aladdin,  but  in  every  way  handsomer.  She  held  it  out 
to  Johnnie.  "Here's  another  book  for  you,"  she  said. 
"You'll  love  it.  All  boys  do.  It's  called  Robinson  Cru- 
soe." 

Afterwards  he  liked  to  remember  that  he  had  said 
"Thank  you"  when  she  placed  the  book  in  his  hands.  He 
was  too  overcome  to  look  up  at  her,  however,  or  smile,  or 
exclaim  over  the  gift.  He  stood  there,  thrilled  and  gaping, 
and  holding  his  breath,  while  the  ends  of  his  red  fingers 
went  white  with  holding  the  new  book  so  tight,  and  his 
pale  face  turned  red  with  emotions  of  several  kinds,  all  of 
them  pleasant.  At  last,  when  he  raised  his  eyes  from  the 
book  to  her  face,  that  face  was  gone.  The  millionaire  was 
gone,  too. 

Johnnie  opened  the  book.  It  did  not  open  easily,  being 
so  new.  But  how  good  it  smelled!  And,  oh,  what  a  lot  of 
it  there  was,  even  though  it  was  smaller  than  the  other! 
For  the  letters  were  tiny,  and  set  close  together  on  every 
page.  Twenty  to  thirty  pages  Johnnie  turned  at  a  time, 
and  found  that  there  were  six  hundred  in  all.  Also,  there 
was  one  picture — of  a  man  wearing  a  curious,  peaked  cap, 
funny  shoes  that  tied,  and  knee  trousers  that  seemed  to 
be  made  of  skins. 

It  was  while  he  was  turning  the  pages  for  a  second  time 
that  he  chanced  upon  the  dollar  bill.  It  was  between  two 
pages  toward  the  back  of  the  book,  and  he  thought  for  a 
moment  that  it  was  not  there,  really,  but  that  he  was 
just  thinking  so.  But  it  was  there,  and  looked  as  crisply 


MORE   TREASURES  75 

new  as  the  book.  He  ran  to  the  corner  and  stared  in  every 
direction,  searching  for  the  millionaire  and  the  woman. 

Then  he  felt  sure  that  she  had  not  known  the  money  was 
in  the  book.  Instead,  it  belonged  to  the  store,  and  had 
somehow  got  tucked  between  the  leaves  by  mistake.  A 
revolving  door  gave  to  the  bookshop.  He  entered  one 
section  of  it  and  half  circled  his  way  in. 

Never  in  his  boldest  imaginings  had  he  thought  of  such 
a  place  as  he  saw  now.  It  was  lofty  and  long,  with  glis- 
tening counters  of  glass  to  one  side.  But  elsewhere  there 
were  just  books  !  books !  books  ! — great  partitions  of  them, 
walls  solidly  faced  with  them,  the  floor  piled  with  them 
man-high.  He  forgot  why  he  had  come  in,  forgot  his  big 
clothes,  his  bare  feet,  his  girl's  hair,  the  new  blue  book, 
and  the  dollar. 

"Yes?     Well?     What  d'  you  want?" 

It  was  a  man  speaking,  and  rather  sharply,  xle  was  a 
red-headed  man,  and  he  wore  spectacles.  He  came  to 
stand  in  front  of  Johnnie,  as  if  to  keep  the  latter  from 
going  farther  into  the  shop. 

Johnnie  held  up  the  new  book.  "A  lady  bought  me 
this,"  he  explained ;  "and  when  I  opened  it  I  found  all  this 
money."  Now  he  held  out  the  dollar. 

There  were  many  people  in  the  store.  Some  of  them 
had  on  their  hats,  others  were  bareheaded,  as  if  they  be- 
longed there.  A  number  quietly  gathered  about  Johnnie 
and  the  red-haired  man,  looking  and  listening.  Johnnie 
gave  each  a  swift  examination.  They  were  all  so  well- 
dressed,  so  different  from  the  tenants  in  the  area  build- 
ing. 

"The  lady  slipped  the  dollar  into  the  book  for  you," 
declared  the  red-headed  man.  "Wasn't  that  mighty  nice 
of  her?" 

Johnnie  silently  agreed.  A  dozen  pairs  of  eyes  were 
watching  him,  and  so  many  strange  people  were  embar- 


76  THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

rassing.  He  began  slowly  to  back  toward  the  revolving 
door. 

"What're  you  going  to  buy  with  your  dollar,  little  boy  ?" 
asked  a  man  in  the  group — a  tall  man  whose  smile  disclosed 
a  large,  gold  tooth. 

The  question  halted  Johnnie.  Such  a  wonderful  idea 
occurred  to  him.  The  dollar  was  his  own,  to  do  with  as 
he  liked.  And  what  he  wanted  most 

"I'm  goin'  to  buy  some  more  books  with  it,"  he  an- 
swered. And  turned  aside  to  one  of  the  great  piles. 

There  was  more  laughter  at  that,  and  a  burst  of  low 
conversation.  Johnnie  paid  no  attention  to  it,  but  ap- 
pealed to  the  red-headed  man.  "What's  the  best  book  y' 
got  ?"  he  inquired,  with  quite  the  air  of  a  seasoned  shopper. 

Again  there  was  laughter.  But  it  seemed  to  be  not  only 
kind  but  complimentary — as  if  once  more  he  had  said 
something  clever  or  amusing.  However,  Johnnie  kept  his 
attention  on  the  red-headed  man. 

"Well,  I'm  afraid  no  two  people  would  ever  agree  as  to 
which  is  our  best  book,"  said  the  latter.  "But  if  you'll 
tell  me  what  you  like,  I'll  do  my  best  to  find  something 
that'll  suit  you." 

Johnnie,  glancing  about,  reflected  that,  without  ques- 
tion, Cis's  speller  had  come  from  this  very  room!  The 
arithmetic,  too ! 

"Got  any  spellers  to-day?"  he  inquired  casually — just 
to  show  them  all  that  he  knew  a  thing  or  two  about  books. 

"In  several  languages,"  returned  the  man,  quite  calmly. 

"I  like  Aladdin  better,"  announced  Johnnie.  Then 
trying  not  to  sound  too  proud,  "I  got  it  here  with  me  right 
now."  Whereupon  he  reached  into  the  baggy  shirt  and 
drew  forth  Mrs.  Kukor's  gift. 

"Bless  his  heart !"  cried  a  woman.    "He  does  love  them !" 

To  Johnnie  this  seemed  a  foolish  remark.    Love  them? 


MORE   TREASURES  77 

Who  did  not?    "If  you  got  another  as  good  as  this  one," 
he  went  on,  "I'd  like  t'  buy  it." 

The  red-headed  man  took  Aladdin.  Then  he  shook  his 
head.  The  group  was  moving  away  now,  and  he  and  John- 
nie were  to  themselves.  "I'm  afraid  this  book  would  be 
hard  to  equal,"  he  said  earnestly.  "They  aren't  writing 
any  more  just  like  it — which  is  a  pity.  But  you  stay 
here  and  I'll  see  what  I  can  find."  He  gave  Aladdin  back, 
and  hurried  off. 

There  was  a  chair  behind  Johnnie.  He  sat  down,  his 
two  precious  books  and  the  dollar  on  his  knees.  Then 
once  more  he  looked  up  and  around,  marveling. 

He  was  aware  that  several  of  those  who  had  been  in  the 
group  were  now  talking  together  at  a  little  distance.  They 
seemed  a  trifle  excited.  The  red-headed  man  joined  them 
for  a  moment,  listened  to  what  they  had  to  say,  and  took 
some  money  from  each  of  them  (Johnnie  concluded  that 
all  were  bookbuyers  like  himself)  before  hurrying  on  be- 
tween two  high  walls  of  books.  In  anticipation  of  more 
literary  possessions,  Johnnie  now  slipped  his  two  volumes 
inside  the  shirt,  one  to  the  right,  one  to  the  left,  so  that 
they  would  not  meet  and  mar  each  other. 

When  the  red-headed  man  came  back,  he  brought  three 
books,  all  new  and  handsome.  "I  think  you'll  like  these," 
he  declared.  "See — this  one's  called  The  Legends  of  King 
Arthur  and  his  Knights,  and  this  one  is  The  Last  of  the 
Mohicans,  and  here's  Treasure  Island." 

"Much  obliged,"  said  Johnnie,  heartily.  His  eyes  shone 
as  he  gathered  the  books  to  him.  His  one  thought  now 
was  to  get  away  and  read,  read,  read.  Quickly  he  prof- 
fered the  dollar  bill. 

"Oh,  you  keep  the  money,"  said  the  red-headed  man 
"You'll  need  it  for  something  else.  Take  the  books — com- 
pliments of  the  house !" 

"No !"     Johnnie  was  aghast.     He  was  used  to  paying 


78  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

for  what  he  got — his  food,  his  bed,  his  rent.  "Oh,  gee !  I 
want  to  pay,  Mister.  I  want  'em  to  be  all  mine. — But  is 
there  any  change  comin'  back  t'  me?" 

Once  more  he  heard  laughter — from  behind  the  pile  of 
books  nearest  him;  then  that  woman's  voice  again:  "Oh, 
the  darling !  The  darling !"  Even  as  she  spoke,  she  moved 
into  sight. 

Johnnie  had  heard  ladies  speak  about  him  in  just  that 
way  before.  He  knew  that  if  they  came  near  to  him  it  was 
to  lay  hands  on  his  yellow  mop.  He  wanted  none  of  that 
sort  of  thing  here,  in  this  glorious  house  full  of  books,  be- 
fore all  these  men. 

"Your  books  came  out  just  a  dollar  even,"  replied  the 
red-headed  man. 

"Thank  y',  Mister!"  Johnnie,  his  new  purchases 
clasped  tight,  sidled  quickly  toward  the  street. 

"Sha'n*i  I  wrap  'em  up  for  you?"  called  the  other. 

Johnnie  was  already  revolving  in  his  quarter-section  of 
the  remarkable  door.  He  shook  his  head.  Going  side- 
wise,  he  could  see  that  quite  a  few  of  those  inside  were  still 
watching  him.  He  flashed  at  them  one  of  his  radiant 
smiles.  Then  the  door  disgorged  him  upon  a  step,  the  great 
Avenue  received  him,  and  he  trotted  off,  dropping  his 
books  into  his  shirt,  one  by  one,  as  he  went,  precisely  as 
Aladdin  had  stuffed  his  clothes  with  amethysts,  sapphires 
and  rubies. 

Before  he  reached  the  next  block  he  was  fairly  belted 
with  books  ;  he  was  armored  with  them,  and  looked  as  if  he 
were  wearing  a  life  preserver  under  his  folds  and  pleats. 

The  sun  was  still  high,  the  air  warm  enough  for  him — 
if  not  for  a  fur-collared  millionaire.  And  Johnnie  did  not 
feel  too  hungry.  His  one  wish  was  to  absorb  those  five 
books.  He  began  to  keep  an  eye  out  for  a  vacant  building. 

"My  goodness !"  he  exclaimed.  "Think  of  me  runnin' 
into  the  place  where  all  the  books  come  from !" 


CHAPTER  IX 

ONE-EYE 

HE  left  the  Avenue,  turning  east.     Now  all  plans 
concerning  Broadway  were  given  up ;  also,  he  felt 
no  anxiety  about  getting  lost.    For  he  went  at  ran- 
idom. 

Yet  he  was  businesslike,  and  walked  rapidly.  No  win- 
dow, however  beautiful,  lured  him  to  pause.  He  did  not 
waste  a  single  minute.  And  soon  he  was  gazing  up  at  a 
really  imposing  and  colossal  structure  which,  \)\g  as  it 
looked  (for  it  seemed  to  occupy  a  whole  block),  was 
plainly  not  in  use.  At  one  corner  the  building  mounted 
to  a  peak.  On  going  all  the  way  around  it,  he  discovered 
smaller  peaks  at  each  of  the  other  corners.  There  were 
any  number  of  entrances,  too ;  and,  of  course,  fire  escapes. 
It  suited  him  finely.  On  one  side  of  this  old  palace — 
for  he  was  sure  it  could  be  nothing  short  of  a  palace — was 
a  flight  of  steps  which  led  up  to  a  small  door.  This  en- 
trance was  an  inconspicuous  one,  which  could  not  be  said 
of  the  several  porticoed  entrances.  Beside  the  steps,  in 
the  angle  made  by  the  meeting  of  the  wall  with  them,  was 
conveniently  set  a  small,  pine  box.  Johnnie  had  hunted  a 
vacant  building  with  the  intention  of  entering  it.  But  now 
he  decided  to  read  first,  and  steal  into  the  palace  later, 
under  cover  of  the  dark.  Down  he  sat  upon  the  box,  out 
of  the  way  of  a  breeze  that  was  wafting  a  trifle  too  freshly 
through  the  street. 

One  by  one  he  took  out  the  three  books  he  had  just 

79 


80  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

bought,  this  in  order  to  give  them  a  closer  scrutiny  than 
the  store  had  afforded  him ;  and  to  start  with  he  met  that 
"glorious  company,  the  flower  of  men,"  who  made  up  the 
Table  Round,  and  who,  if  the  colored  pictures  of  them 
were  to  be  believed,  made  his  mounted  policeman  of  an 
hour  before  seem  a  sorry  figure.  And  their  names  were 
as  splendid  as  their  photographs — Launcelot,  and  Gawain, 
Gareth  and  Tristram  and  Galahad.  Remembering  that  he 
was  called  Johnnie,  he  felt  quite  sick. 

When,  after  poring  over  the  half-dozen  illustrations, 
he  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  nothing  could  sur- 
pass the  knights  of  King  Arthur,  he  opened  The  Last  of 
the  Mohicans  and  found  himself  captured,  heart  and  soul, 
by  the  even  more  enticing  Uncas  and  his  fellows,  superb 
bronze  creatures,  painted  and  feathered,  and  waving  toma- 
hawks that  far  outshone  any  blunt  lance. 

He  had  to  change  his  mind  again.  For  bringing  him- 
self to  tuck  away  his  Indians  and  fetch  forth  Treasure 
Island,  he  was  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  a  piratical  crew 
who  easily  surpassed  even  the  redmen.  The  fiercest  of 
these  pirates,  a  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Long  John 
Silver,  was  without  question  the  pick  of  the  lot.  To  begin 
with,  Mr.  Silver  undoubtedly  belonged  to  the  New  York 
family  of  peg  legs,  which,  of  course,  brought  him  nearer 
than  his  brother  pirates.  However,  what  especially  recom- 
mended him  was  a  pistol-filled  belt. 

"Gee!  I'm  glad  I  got  mine!"  Johnnie  declared,  since 
the  chief-pirate's  belt  was  strikingly  like  the  one  binding 
in  Big  Tom's  cast-off  clothes ;  and  he  willingly  forgot  what 
the  strap  of  leather  had  done  to  him  in  the  past  in  real- 
izing its  wonderful  possibilities  for  the  future. 

Finally  he  was  ready  to  begin  reading.  He  was  loyal  to 
his  friend  Aladdin  then,  whom  he  had  left,  on  the  fatal 
stroke  of  twelve,  in  rather  dire  straits.  The  Oriental 
wonder  book  on  his  knees,  he  resumed  the  enthralling  story, 


ONE-EYE  81 

his  lips  and  fingers  moving,  and — in  the  excitement  of  it 
all — his  misty  eyebrows  twisting  like  two  caterpillars. 

Pedestrians  hurried  past  him,  motor  vehicles  and  sur- 
face-cars sped  by — for  Fourth  Avenue  lay  in  front;  but 
what  he  saw  was  Aladdin  in  chains ;  Aladdin  before  the 
executioner;  Aladdin  pardoned,  yet  aghast  over  the  loss 
of  his  palace  and  the  beloved  Buddir  al  Buddoor,  and  ready 
to  take  his  own  life. 

The  afternoon  went  swiftly.  Evening  came.  But  the 
nearest  street  lamp  was  lighted  in  advance  of  the  dark. 
Engrossed  by  the  awful  drama  transpiring  in  Africa,  where 
Aladdin  and  his  Princess  were  plotting  to  rid  themselves 
of  the  magician,  Johnnie  did  not  know  when  lamplight  took 
the  place  of  daylight. 

The  Princess,  who  began  to  be  tired  with  this  impertinent 
declaration  of  the  African  magician,  interrupted  him  and 
said,  "Let  us  drink  first,  and  then  say  what  you  will  after- 
wards;" at  the  same  time  she  set  the  cup  to  her  lips,  while 
the  African  magician,  who  was  eager  to  get  his  wine  off 
first,  drank  up  the  very  last  drop.  In  finishing  it,  he  had 
reclined  his  liead  back  to  show  his  eagerness,  and  remained 
some  time  in  that  state.  The  Princess  kept  the  cup  at  her 
lips,  till  she  saw  his  eyes  turn  in  his  head 

"Hurrah !"  cried  Johnnie,  relieved  at  this  fortunate  end 
of  the  crisis,  for  his  very  hair  was  damp  with  anxiety. 
"His  eyes've  turned  in  his  head!" 

"Wai,  by  the  Great  Horn  Spoon !" 

This  strange  exclamation,  drawled  in  a  nasal  tone,  came 
from  the  steps  at  his  back.  He  started  up,  jerking  side- 
wise  to  get  out  of  reach  of  the  hands  that  belonged  to  the 
voice,  and  clutching  his  book  to  him.  But  as  he  faced  the 
speaker,  who  was  peering  down  at  him  from  the  top  of  the 
steps,  wonder  took  the  place  of  apprehension. 

For  to  his  astonished  and  enraptured  gaze  was  vouch- 
safed a  most  interesting  man — a  man  far  and  beyond  and 


82  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

above  anybody  he  had  ever  before  beheld  in  the  flesh.  This 
person  was  tall  and  slender,  and  wore  a  blue  shirt,  a  plaid 
vest  hanging  open  but  kept  together  with  a  leather  watch- 
chain,  a  wide,  high,  gray  hat,  and — most  wonderful  of  all 
— a  pair  of  breeches  which,  all  down  the  front,  were  as 
hairy  as  any  dog ! 

It  was  the  breeches  that  gave  the  stranger  his  startling 
and  admirable  appearance — the  breeches  and  his  face. 
For  directly  under  the  hat,  which  was  worn  askew,  was 
one  round,  greenish  eye,  set  at  the  upper  end  of  a  nose 
that  was  like  a  triangle  of  leather.  The  eye  held  the  geo- 
graphical center  of  the  whole  countenance,  this  because  its 
owner  kept  his  head  tipped,  precisely  as  if  he  had  a  stiff 
neck.  Under  the  leathery  nose,  which  seemed  to  have 
been  cut  from  the  same  welt  as  the  watchchain,  was  a 
drooping,  palish  mustache,  hiding  a  mouth  that  had  lost 
too  many*  teeth.  As  for  the  other  eye,  it  was  brushed  aside 
under  the  band  of  the  hat. 

"Gee  !"breathed  Johnnie.  Wearing  fur  trousers  instead 
of  a  fur  collar,  here,  without  doubt,  was  a  new  kind  of 
millionaire ! 

The  latter  took  a  cigar  out  of  an  upper  vest  pocket 
and  worried  one  end  of  it  with  a  tooth.  "It's  half-pas' 
seven,  sonny,"  he  said. 

Johnnie  backed  another  step.  Half-past  seven  gave 
him  a  swift  vision  of  the  flat — Grandpa  asleep,  Barber 
pacing  the  splintery  floor  in  a  rage,  Cis  weeping  at  the 
window,  Mrs.  Kukor  waddling  about,  talking  with  tongue 
and  hands.  He  had  no  mind  to  be  made  a  part  of  that 
picture.  He  resolved  to  answer  no  questions,  while  with  a 
dexterous  movement  he  slipped  Aladdin  into  his  shirt  and 
got  ready  to  run. 

The  other  now  sat  down,  scratched  a  match  nonchal- 
antly on  a  step,  and  let  the  light  shine  into  that  single 
green  eye  as  he  set  an  end  of  the  cigar  afire ;  after  which 


ONE-EYE  83 

he  proceeded  to  blow  smoke  through  his  nose  in  a  masterly 
fashion,  following  up  that  feat  with  a  series  of  perfect 
smoke  rings. 

Still  on  his  guard,  Johnnie  studied  the  smoker.  The 
big  gray  hat  came  to  a  peak — like  the  highest  corner  of 
the  empty  palace.  Below  the  hairy  trousers  the  lower 
parts  of  a  pair  of  black  boots  shone  so  brightly  that  they 
carried  reflections  even  at  that  late  hour.  The  boots  were 
tapered  off  by  spurs. 

What  was  there  about  this  man  that  made  him  seem 
somehow  familiar?  Johnnie  puzzled  over  it.  And  decided 
at  last,  correctly  enough,  as  it  turned  out,  that  the  ex- 
planation lay  in  those  shaggy  trousers. 

He  was  not  afraid  to  make  an  inquiry.  "Mister,"  he 
began  politely,  "where  did  y'  buy  your  pants?" 

The  effect  of  this  question  was  startling.  The  man 
pushed  back  his  hat,  threw  up  his  head,  rescued  the  burn- 
ing cigar,  then  emitted  an  almost  catlike  yowl.  For  some 
minutes  several  people  had  been  watching  him  from  a 
respectful  distance.  Now,  hearing  the  yowl,  these  on- 
lookers drew  near.  He  rose  then,  instantly  sober,  set  the 
hat  forward,  descended  the  steps,  and  held  out  a  friendly 
left  hand  to  Johnnie. 

"Come  on,  sonny,"  he  coaxed.  "Ain't  it  eatin'  time? 
Let's  go  and  pur-chase  some  grub." 

Johnnie,  for  all  that  he  had  been  practically  a  recluse 
these  past  several  years,  had,  nevertheless,  the  metropo- 
lite's  inborn  indifference  to  the  passerby.  He  had  scarcely 
noticed  the  steadily  increasing  group  before  the  steps. 
Now  he  ignored  them  all.  He  was  hungry.  That  invita- 
tion to  partake  of  food  was  welcome. 

He  advanced  and  held  out  a  hand.  The  one-eyed  man 
grasped  it,  descended  the  last  step  or  two,  pushed  his  way 
through  the  crowd  without  looking  to  right  or  left,  and 
led  Johnnie  down  the  street  at  such  a  pace  that  the  bare 


84  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

feet  were  put  to  the  trot — which  was  not  too  fast,  seeing 
that  supper  lay  somewhere  ahead. 

Johnnie  felt  proud  and  flattered.  He  made  up  his  mind 
to  be  seen  talking  to  his  tall  companion  as  they  fared 
along.  "Guess  you're  not  a  longshoreman,"  he  said,  to 
begin  the  conversation. 

"Me?"  drawled  the  other;  then,  mysteriously,  "Wai, 
sonny,  I'll  tell  y' :  if  I  am,  I  ain't  never  yet  found  it  out !" 

Then  silence  for  half  a  block.  Johnnie  studied  his 
next  remark.  The  direct  way  was  the  most  natural  to 
him.  He  tried  another  query.  "And — and  what  do  y' 
do?"  he  asked. 

"Do?" — this  stranger  seemed  to  have  Grandpa's  habit 
of  repeating  the  last  word.  "Oh,  I  val-lav  a  hoss." 

Johnnie  was  no  wiser  than  before,  but  he  felt  it  good 
manners  to  appear  enlightened.  "You — you  do  that  back 
there?"  tfe1  ventured  next. 

"Yeppie.    In  the  Garden." 

Now  Johnnie  was  hopelessly  lost.  Val-lay  meant  noth- 
ing, hoss  even  less;  as  for  a  garden,  he  vaguely  under- 
stood what  that  was:  a  place  where  beans  grew,  and  po- 
tatoes ;  yes,  and  wizen-faced  prunes.  But  though  he  had 
circled  about  the  neighborhood  considerably  since  leaving 
the  bookstore,  he  had  caught  no  glimpse  of  any  garden — 
except  that  one  belonging  to  Aladdin.  Ah,  that  was  it! 
This  strange  man's  garden  was  down  a  flight  of  steps ! 

"Do  you  grow  cabbages  in  your  garden?"  he  asked, 
"or — or  diamonds?" 

"How's  that?"  demanded  the  other;  then  as  if  he  had 
recovered  from  a  momentary  surprise,  "Oh,  a  little  of 
both." 

"Both!" 

"But — but  this  ain't  what  you'd  call  a  good  year  for 
diamonds.  Nope.  Too  many  cutworms." 

Johnnie  wanted  to   ask  if  all   gardeners   wore  hairy 


ONE-EYE  85 

trousers.  Then  thought  of  a  subject  even  more  interest- 
ing. "Mister," — he  put  a  note  of  genuine  sympathy  into 
his  voice — "how'd  you  come  t'  lose  your  eye?" 

"My  eye?" — Grandpa's  habit  again.  "Wai,  this  is 
how" —  He  frowned  with  the  eye  he  had  left,  and  pursed 
his  lips  till  his  mustache  stood  out  fearsomely. 

"Yes?"  encouraged  Johnnie,  whose  mind  was  picturing 
all  sorts  of  exciting  events  in  which  the  tall  man,  as  the 
hero,  fought  and  was  injured,  yet  conquered  his  enemies. 

"Sonny,"  the  other  went  on  sadly,  "I  jes'  natu'lly  got 
my  eye  pinched  in  the  door." 

Pinched  in  the  door!  Johnnie  stared.  Pinched  in  the 
doorf  How  could  that  happen?  What  might  a  man  be 
doing  that  such  an  accident  should  come  to  pass?  He 
put  his  free  hand  to  one  of  his  own  eyes,  fingering  it 
inquiringly. 

Before  he  could  come  to  any  conclusion,  the  one-eyed 
man  had  halted  before  the  blazing,  glassed-in  front  of 
a  restaurant  that  fairly  dazzled  the  sight.  It  was,  as 
Johnnie  saw,  such  a  place  as  only  millionaires  could 
afford  to  frequent.  In  the  very  front  of  it,  behind  that 
plate  window,  stood  men  in  white,  wearing  spotless  caps, 
who  were  cooking  things  in  plain  view  of  the  street.  And 
inside — for  the  one-eyed  man  now  boldly  opened  a  door 
and  entered,  drawing  Johnnie  after  him — were  more  men 
in  white,  and  women  similarly  garbed.  The  high  walls 
of  the  great  room  were  white  too,  like  the  hall  of  a  sul- 
tan's palace.  And  seated  at  long  tables  were  splendidly 
attired  men  and  women,  enjoying  their  supper  as  calmly 
as  if  all  this  magnificence  were  nothing  to  them — nothing, 
though  the  tables  were  of  marble! 

However,  every  man  and  woman  in  the  wonderful  place 
showed  marked  excitement  on  the  appearance  of  Johnnie 
and  his  escort.  They  stopped  eating.  And  how  they 
stared!  They  bent  to  all  sides,  whispering.  For  a  mo- 


86  THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ment,  Johnnie  felt  sure  that,  ragged  as  he  was,  the  palace 
did  not  want  him,  and  that  he  was  about  to  be  ordered 
out.  He  hung  back,  wishing  with  all  his  heart  that  he 
had  done  his  hanging  back  earlier,  outside  the  door,  for 
instance. 

Then,  relief;  for  he  recognized  that  all  the  interest  was 
kindly.  One  of  the  ladies  in  white — a  beautiful,  stately 
person — showed  them  grandly  to  chairs  at  either  side  of 
a  table;  a  second  lady  brought  them  each  a  glass  of 
ice  water,  and  condescended  to  listen  to  their  wants  in 
the  supper  line.  About  them  people  smiled  cordially. 

The  one-eyed  man  was  now  bareheaded.  And  Johnnie, 
just  as  he  was  leaning  back,  prepared  to  enjoy  himself 
to  the  full,  suddenly  noted,  and  with  a  pang,  that  his 
host,  shorn  of  his  headgear,  was  far  less  attractive  in 
appearance  than  when  covered;  did  not  seem  the  strange, 
rakish,  picturesque,  almost  wild  figure  of  a  moment  be- 
fore, but  civilized,  slick,  and  mild. 

For  one  thing,  that  shut  eye  was  in  full  view,  which 
subtracted  from  the  brigandish  look  of  his  countenance; 
for  another,  the  shaggy  trousers  were — naturally — in 
total  eclipse.  Then  he  had  mouse-colored  hair  which 
matched  his  mustache,  whereas  it  should  have  been  black 
— or  bright  red.  To  make  matters  worse,  the  hair  had 
recently  been  wet-combed.  It  was  also  fine  and  thin, 
especially  over  the  top  of  the  head,  from  where  it  had 
been  brought  straight  down  upon  the  forehead  in  a  long, 
smooth,  shining  bang  which  (and  this  not  a  quarter-inch 
too  soon)  turned  to  sweep  left.  Contrasting  with  the 
oily  appearance  of  the  bang  were  some  hairs  at  the  very 
crown  of  the  head.  These — a  few — leaned  this  way  and 
that,  making  a  wild  tuft. 

Johnnie  wished  with  his  whole  heart  that  the  stranger 
would  again  put  on  his  hat. 

Another  feature  thrust  itself  upon   Johnnie's   notice. 


ONE-EYE  87 

Out  from  the  front  of  his  host's  throat,  to  the  ruination 
of  such  scant  good  looks  as  he  had,  protruded  an  Adam's 
apple  that  was  as  large  and  tanned  and  tough-looking 
as  his  nose.  On  that  brown  prominence  a  number  of  long 
pale  hairs  had  their  roots.  These  traveled  now  high,  now 
low,  as  the  one-eyed  man  drank  deep  of  the  ice  water. 
And  Johnnie  felt  that  he  understood  the  sad  quiet  of  this 
queer,  tall  person.  In  his  case  the  stork  had  been  indeed 
cruel. 

The  hat  was  swinging  from  a  near-by  hook — one  of  a 
idouble  line  of  hooks  down  the  long  room.  Under  the  hat 
was  a  sign.  Johnnie  read  it;  then  centered  his  stare  on 
the  hat.  At  any  moment  he  expected  to  witness  some- 
thing extraordinary.  That  was  because  across  the  pla- 
card, in  neat,  black  letters,  were  the  words:  Watch  your 
Hat  and  Coat. 

He  reached  to  touch  the  one-eyed  man.  "l»ay,  Mis- 
ter!" he  whispered,  "Y'  see  what  it  says?  Well,  what'll 
happen  if  we  watch?" 

"Huh!"  ejaculated  the  other,  slewing  that  one  green 
eye  round  to  glance  upward.  "That's  jes'  it !  If  y'  watch, 
nuthin'll  happen !" 

It  was  a  good  thing  to  know  at  the  moment.  For  the 
second  lady  was  back,  bringing  supper  with  her — a  smok- 
ing dish  of  mingled  meat  and  vegetables,  another  of  pork 
and  beans,  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  glass  of  milk,  an  orange,  and 
bread  and  butter. 

Butter!  Johnnie  could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes.  He 
almost  thought  this  was  one  of  Buckle's  meals,  and  that 
the  butter  would  melt,  figuratively  speaking,  before  his 
longing  look.  But  it  stayed,  a  bright  pat,  as  yellow 
as  his  own  hair,  on  a  doll's  dish  of  a  plate.  And  as 
Johnnie  had  not  tasted  butter  for  a  very  long  time,  he 
proceeded  now,  after  the  manner  of  the  male,  to  clear  that 
cunning  little  dish  by  eating  the  choicest  thing  first. 


88  THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

As  for  the  one-eyed  man,  his  knife,  held  in  his  left  hand, 
was  going  up  and  down  between  the  dish  of  beans  and 
his  mouth  with  mechanical  regularity.  At  the  bean  dish, 
he  covered  the  long  blade  with  a  ruddy  heap.  Then  bal- 
ancing it  all  nicely,  he  swung  it  ceiling-ward,  met  it 
half-way  by  a  quick  duck  of  the  mouse-covered  head,  and 
swept  it  clean  with  a  dextrous,  all-enveloping  movement. 

Johnnie  was  hungry  too.  The  butter  gone,  along  with 
its  complement  of  bread,  he  attacked  his  share  of  the 
meat  and  vegetables,  using,  however  (which  was  to  Cis's 
credit),  a  fork.  The  dish  was  delicious.  He  forgot  even 
the  placard. 

So  far  the  one-eyed  man  had  proven  to  be  anything 
but  a  talkative  person.  Under  the  circumstances  this 
was  just  as  well.  Johnnie  could  not  have  shared  just  then 
in  a  conservation.  Twice  during  the  meal  he  reached 
down  ami  let  out  the  strap  a  hole  or  two.  And  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  was  grateful  for  the  roominess  of 
Barber's  old  clothes. 

Half  an  hour,  and  Johnnie  was,  as  he  himself  ex- 
pressed it,  "stuffed  like  a  sausage."  The  orange,  he 
(dropped  into  his  shirt-band  to  find  a  place  with  the  books, 
there  being  no  space  for  it  internally. 

"Full  up,  eh?"  demanded  the  one-eyed  man,  mopping 
at  his  mustache  so  hard  with  a  paper  napkin  that 
Johnnie  expected  to  see  the  hairy  growth  come  away 
from  its  moorings  under  the  leathery  nose. 

"It  was  a  feast!"  pronounced  Johnnie,  borrowing  from 
the  language  of  his  friend  Aladdin.  A  moment  later  he 
gasped  as  he  saw  his  host  carelessly  ring  a  fifty-cent 
piece  upon  the  gorgeous  marble  of  the  table  top.  Then 
the  meal  had  cost  so  much  as  that!  As  he  trotted  door- 
ward  in  the  wake  of  the  spurred  heels,  his  boy's  con- 
science faintly  smote  him.  He  almost  felt  that  he  had 
eaten  too  much. 


ONE-EYE  89 

"My  goodness !"  he  murmured,  his  glance  missing  the 
variegated  mosaic  of  the  floor. 

But  still  another  moment,  and  the  one-eyed  man  had 
halted  at  a  desk  which  stood  close  to  the  front  door,  and 
was  throwing  down  a  one-dollar  bill,  together  with  some 
silver. 

Johnnie  knew  something  was  wrong.  His  host  was 
forgetful,  absent-minded.  He  realized  that  he  must  in- 
terfere. "You  jus'  paid  the  lady !"  he  warned  in  a  hasty 
whisper. 

The  other  nodded   sadly   as  he  settled   the  big  hat. 
"Yeppie,"  he  returned.    "But  y'  see,  sonny,  it's  this-away : 
if  you  got  jes'  one  eye,  w'y,  they  make  y'  pay  twicet!" 
Another  gasp.     It  was  so  grossly  unfair! 
However  it  had  all  proved  to  him  beyond  a  doubt  that 
here  was  a  man  of  unlimited  wealth.    On  several^occasions 
Uncle  Albert's  millionaire  had  treated  Johnnie  to  candy 
and  apples.     But  now  the  riches  of  that  person  seemed 
pitifully  trivial. 

They  fared  forth  and  away  in  the  same  order  as  they 
had  come. 

But  not  so  silently.  Food,  it  seemed,  was  what  could 
rouse  the  one-eyed  man  to  continued  speech.  He  began 
to  ask  questions,  all  of  them  to  the  point,  most  of  them 
embarrassing. 

"Say,  what  in  the  name  o'  Sam  Hill  y'  got  cached  inside 
that  shirt?" — this  was  the  first  one. 

"Books,"  returned  Johnnie,  promptly,  "and  thfi 
orange." 

"Y'  kinda  cotton  t'  books,  eh  ?"  the  other  next  observecT 
"Not  cotton,"  replied  Johnnie,  politely.    "They're  made 
of  paper." 

"Y'  don't  tell  me?— -And  what  yj  want  me  t'  call  y'?" 
"My — my — my,"  began  Johnnie,  trying  to  think  and 
speak  at  the  same  time,  with  small  success  in  either  di- 


90  THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

rection.  Then  feeling  himself  pressed  for  time,  and  help- 
less, he  fell  back  upon  the  best  course,  which  was  the 
simple  truth.  "My  name's  Johnnie  Smith,"  he  added. 

The  truth  was  too  simple  to  be  believed,  "Aw,  git  out !" 
laughed  the  one-eyed  man,  with  a  comical  lift  of  the 
mustache.  "And  I  s'pose  y'  live  with  the  Vanderbilt  fam- 
bly,  eh?" 

Johnnie's  eyes  sparkled.  There  was  in  the  question  a 
certain  something — an  ignoring  of  bare  facts — which 
made  him  believe  that  this  man  and  he  were  kindred  souls. 
"No,  I  don't  live  with  'era,"  he  hastened  to  say.  "But  I 
talk  to  Mister  Vanderbilt  ev'ry  day  on  the  tel'phone." 

The  stranger  seemed  neither  doubtful  nor  amazed. 
Johnnie  liked  him  better  and  better.  Taking  a  fresh 
hold  of  the  other's  horny  hand,  he  chattered  on :  "I  talked 
to  Mister  Astor  yesterday.  He  asked  me  t'  go  ridin'  with 
him,  but  Ihad  t'  take  a  trip  t'  Niagarry." 

"Hope  y*  didn't  hurt  his  feelin's  none," — the  tone  was 
grave:  that  one  green  eye  looked  anxious. 

Johnnie  only  shook  his  head.  He  did  not  care  to  go 
further  with  the  discussion  of  the  Astor-Simth  friend- 
ship. 

However,  the  one-eyed  man  himself  turned  the  conver- 
sation, "Goin'  back  home  t'night?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

Johnnie  raised  startled  eyes.  "N-n-no,"  he  returned. 
"I-i-if  I  was  to,  I'd  have  to  take  a  terrible  lickin'." 

"Mm."  The  one-eyed  man  seemed  to  understand;  then, 
presently,  "Your  paw? — or  your  maw?" 

"No  relation  at  all,"  protested  Johnnie.  "Just  the  man 
where  I  live." 

"He  feeds  y'  O.  K.,"  put  in  the  other.  "I  was  noticin' 
back  yonder  in  the  chuck-house  how  plump  y'  are." 

Johnnie  said  nothing.  There  were  things  he  could  tell, 
if  he  wanted  to,  which  had  to  do  with  comparisons  between 
Aunt  Sophie's  table  and  Big  Tom's.  But  these  things 


ONE-EYE  91 

would  contradict  the  one-eyed  man;  and  Johnnie  knew 
from  experience  that  grown-ups  do  not  like  to  be  con- 
tradicted. 

Just  ahead  was  that  great  palace,  lifting  dark  towers 
against  the  glowing  night  sky.  If  the  one-eyed  man  lived 
there,  if  the  palace  actually  contained  a  garden  (and  it 
seemed  large  enough  to  contain  any  number  of  gardens), 
Johnnie  wanted,  if  possible,  to  spend  some  time  under 
that  vast  roof.  So  it  was  wise  not  to  say  anything  that 
might  bring  him  into  disfavor;  especially  when  what  he 
wanted  most  now  was  shelter  and  a  reading  light. 

He  grasped  the  other's  hand  firmly  and  flashed  up  what 
was  intended  for  a  beguiling  smile.  "He  don't  ever  feed 
me  like  you  do,"  he  declared,  with  dazzling  diplomacy. 

The  compliment  was  grandly  passed  over.  "But  he 
shore  dresses  y'  tiptop !"  was  the  next  assertion. 

At  that,  some  inkling  of  the  other's  real  meaning  came 
to  Johnnie.  He  tried,  but  in  vain,  to  catch  that  single 
eye.  But  even  in  the  half  light  it  was  busy  taking  in  every 
detail  of  Big  Tom's  shirt  and  trousers.  "Y* — y'  think 
so  ?"  Johnnie  ventured,  ready  to  laugh. 

"Think  so !"  cried  the  one-eyed  man,  spiritedly.  "Wy, 
he  must  jes'  about  go  broke  at  it!  Lookee!  Twicet  as 
much  shirt  as  y'  need,  and  at  least  five  times  as  much 
pants !" 

Certainly  there  was  no  denying  the  statement.  How- 
ever, there  was  another  side  to  Barber's  generosity  that 
Johnnie  longed  to  discuss.  Yet  once  more  he  decided 
to  invite  no  argument.  "It'll  be  worse  if  I  had  t'  wear 
girl's  clothes,"  was  what  he  returned,  philosophically. 

The  street  was  dark  just  there.  He  was  not  able  to 
mark  the  facial  expression  which  now  accompanied  a 
curious  sound  from  the  region  of  the  Adam's  apple.  But 
when  the  light  at  the  palace  corner  was  reached,  a  quick 
glance  showed  a  stern  visage,  with  mouth  set  hard  and 


92  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

that  green  eye  burning.     And  Johnnie's  heart  went  out 
of  him,  for  now  he  doubted  again. 

They  paused  at  the  foot  of  those  steps.  "Do  y'  go  t' 
school?"  asked  the  one-eyed  man. 

Johnnie  shook  his  head.  "He  don't  let  me,"  he  declared. 
But  he  was  as  careful  as  ever  to  speak  with  no  bitterness. 
Without  question,  in  this  tall  stranger  Big  Tom  had  an 
ally. 

"He  don't  let  y',"  drawled  the  other.  "Don't  let  y'  go 
t'  school.  Hm! — Say,  y'  know,  I  think  I'd  like  that 
feller!" 

He  must  get  away!  Suddenly  throwing  all  the  weight 
of  himself  and  his  books  into  the  effort,  Johnnie  tried  to 
pull  free  of  his  companion,  using  both  hands. 

The  one-eyed  man  held  on.  His  grasp  was  like  steel 
— yes,  even  like  Big  Tom's  grasp.  "Aw,  sonny !"  he  cried, 
as  if  suddenly  repentent.  Then  seizing  Johnnie  under 
both  arms,  he  swung  him  to  the  top  of  those  steps. 

That  same  moment  wide  doors  opened  before  them,  and 
a  vast,  dim  place  was  disclosed  to  the  boy's  astonished 
view.  "Why — !  What — !  Oh — !"  he  marveled. 

The  one-eyed  man  shut  the  doors  by  retreating  and 
giving  them  a  push  with  his  back.  Then  he  thrust 
Johnnie  toward  a  second  flight  of  steps.  These  led  down 
to  a  basement  only  partly  lighted,  full  of  voices,  tramp- 
lings,  and  strange  smells.  Frightened,  Johnnie  made  out 
the  upraised  heads  of  horses — lines  of  them!  He  could 
see  a  group  of  men  too,  each  as  big-hatted  and  shaggy- 
trousered  as  this  one  who  still  had  him  about  his  middle. 

A  great  cry  went  up  from  that  group — "Yip!  yip! 
yip !  yip !  yee-e-e-e-eow!  One-Eye !" 

"Oh,  Mister,"  breathed  Johnnie,  "is  it  the  circus?" 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   SURPRISE 

IT  on  t*  the  size  of  it!  ....  Oh,  my  Aunt 
Sally!  ....  Lookee  what  the  cat  bmng  in! 
....  Boys,  ketch  me  whilst  I  faint!  .... 
Am  I  seein'  it,  or  ain't  I — w'ich?  ....  Say!  they's 
more  down  cellar  in  a  teacup !" 

Johnnie  understood  that  it  was  all  about  himself,  and 
even  guessed  that  he  looked  a  little  queer  to  Jjhese  men 
who  appeared  so  strange  to  him.  They  were  gathered 
around  in  a  boisterous  circle,  exclaiming  and  laughing. 
He  revolved  slowly,  examining  each.  Some  were  stocky 
and  some  spindling.  Two  or  three  were  almost  boyish ;  the 
others,  as  old  as  One-Eye.  But  in  the  matter  of  dress, 
one  was  exactly  like  every  other  one — at  least  so  far  as 
could  be  judged  by  a  small  boy  in  a  moment  so  charged 
with  excitement. 

He  felt  no  resentment  at  their  banter,  sensing  that  it 
was  kindly.  He  liked  them.  He  liked  the  great,  mysteri- 
ous basement.  He  felt  precisely  like  another  Aladdin. 
No  magical  smoke  had  gone  up,  and  no  stone  had  been 
lifted.  Yet  here  he  was  in  a  new  and  entrancing  world! 

He  would  have  liked  to  stay  right  there  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  for  a  long  time,  in  order  to  give  adequate  study 
to  every  one  of  the  shaggy  men.  But  One-Eye  suddenly 
grasped  him  by  the  hand  again  and  led  him  away — down 
a  long,  curving  alley  that  took  them  past  a  score  of 
horses.  Each  horse  was  in  a  stall  of  its  own,  and  under 

93 


94  THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR   BOY 

each  was  straw  as  yellow  as  Johnnie's  own  hair.  Electric 
bulbs  lit  the  whole  place  grandly,  disclosing  saddles  and 
straps  and  other  horse  gear,  hung  at  intervals  along  the 
alley. 

la  one  of  his  swift  visions,  he  now  saw  himself  as  a 
member  of  this  fasciniating  crew,  wearing,  like  them,  long, 
hairy  breeches,  a  wide  hat,  spurs,  and  a  neckerchief,  and 
setting  gaily  forth  in  a  cavalcade  to  be  admired  by  a 
marveling  city! 

Far  along,  where  the  alley  swerved  sharply,  One-Eye 
halted  him.  Here  was  a  vacant  stall,  except  that  it  was 
half-filled  with  straw.  A  coat  hung  in  it,  and  in  the  iron 
feed  box  in  one  corner  nested  a  pair  of  boots.  Plainly 
this  was  a  camping  place,  and  Johnnie  thrilled  as  they 
turned  into  It,  and  he  stood  almost  waist  deep  in  clean 
bedding. 

"Have  a  chair,"  insisted  One-Eye,  with  a  gentle 
shoulder  pat. 

Johnnie  sat.  Even  as  he  went  down  he  felt  that  he 
really  was  coming  to  understand  this  new  friend  better. 
Of  course  there  was  no  chair.  It  was  just  the  other's 
way  of  saying  things — an  odd,  funny  way.  His  back 
braced  against  a  stall  side,  he  grinned  across  at  One-Eye, 
now  squatted  opposite  him,  and  smoking,  this  in  splendid 
disregard  of  a  sign  which  read  plainly:  No  Smoking. 

Johnnie  did  not  speak.  His  experience  with  Big  Tom 
had  taught  him  at  least  one  valuable  lesson :  to  be  sparing 
with  his  tongue.  So  he  waited  the  pleasure  of  his  com- 
panion, sunk  in  a  trough  of  the  straw,  ringed  round  with 
books,  his  thumbs  in  his  palms  and  his  fingers  shut  tight 
upon  the  thumbs  through  sheer  emotion,  which  also  show- 
ed in  two  red  spots  on  his  cheeks. 

"Reckon  y'  don't  want  t'  go  out  no  more  t'night,"  ob- 
served One-Eye,  after  a  moment. 


THE  SURPRISE  95 

"No."  Johnnie  held  his  breath,  hoping  for  an  invita- 
tion. 

It  came.  "Thought  y'  wouldn't.  So  camp  right  here, 
and  to-morra  we'll  powwow." 

"All  right."  Johnnie's  voice  shook  with  relief  and  de- 
light; with  pride,  too,  at  heing  thus  honored.  He  rolled 
up  the  coat  for  a  pillow  when  One-Eye  rose  and  threw  it 
Idown  to  him;  and  being  offered  a  horse  blanket,  pulled 
it  up  to  his  brows  and  lay  back  obediently,  to  the  peril 
of  the  orange,  which  was  under  him,  and  so  to  his  own 
Discomfort. 

"So  long,  sonny."  The  single  green  eye  gleamed  down 
at  him  almost  affectionately  from  under  the  wide  brim. 

"Thank  y',"  returned  Johnnie. 

For  a  long  time  he  lay  without  moving,  this  for  fear 
One-Eye  might  come  back.  When  he  took  his  books  out 
of  his  shirt,  he  did  not  read,  though  the  stall  w§,s  brightly 
lighted,  only  watched  a  pair  of  nervous  brown  ears  that 
kept  showing  above  the  stall-side  in  front  of  him.  Some- 
thing was  troubling  him  very  much.  It  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing in  his  forehead ;  but  it  was  in  his  throat  most  of  all ; 
though  that  spot  at  the  end  of  his  breastbone  felt  none 
too  well. 

Whatever  it  was,  it  had  a  great  deal  to  'do  with  Cis  (the 
mere  thought  of  her  made  his  eyes  smart)  and  with  Grand- 
pa. Freedom  and  new  friends  he  had;  more  books,  too, 
than  he  could  read  in  a  year — or  so  it  seemed  to  him  as 
he  measured  the  pile  under  the  orange.  Then  why,  having 
the  best  bed  he  had  known  since  the  one  with  the  blue 
knobs  at  Aunt  Sophie's,  why  could  he  not  go  to  sleep? 
or,  if  he  was  not  sleepy,  why  did  he  not  want  to  read? 
or  summon  to  him  Aladdin,  or  David  with  Goliath,  or 
Mr.  Rockefeller? 

He  pulled  hard  at  his  hair. 

The  truth  was,  he  was  learning  something  about  him- 


96  THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR   BOY 

self.  He  was  finding  out  that  to  get  away  from  danger 
was  only  part  of  his  problem:  the  other  part  was  to  get 
away  from  his  own  thoughts,  his  feelings — in  short,  his 
conscience.  For  try  as  he  might,  as  he  lay  there,  he 
could  not  keep  the  wheel  chair  out  of  his  sight ! 

It  stood  before  him  in  the  yellow  bedding,  and  the 
little  old  man  seated  in  it  kept  holding  out  trembling 
hands.  The  thin,  bearded  face  was  distorted  pathetically, 
and  tears  streamed  from  the  faded  eyes.  If  Johnnie 
turned  his  head  away  from  the  chair,  he  met  other  eyes — 
eyes  young  and  blue  and  gentle.  Poor  Cis,  so  shy  always, 
and  silent;  so  loving  and  good! 

Down  into  One-Eye's  coat  went  Johnnie's  small  nose, 
and  so  hard  that  to  this  unfreckled  feature  was  instantly 
transferred  the  pain  in  his  forehead  and  throat  ano! 
breast;  and  his  hurt  was  for  a  moment  changed  into  the 
physical,  ^fvhich  was  easier  to  bear.  Yes,  they  were  left 
behind  alone,  those  two  who  were  so  dear  to  him. 

Even  with  the  horse  blanket  over  both  ears  he  could 
hear  the  wheel  chair  going  from  the  stove  to  the  window, 
from  the  window  to  the  hall  door,  while  the  old  soldier 
whimpered  and  called.  He  could  hear  Cis  call,  too — his 
name.  But  it  was  Grandpa  who  hurt  him  the  most.  Cis 
was  quite  grown-up,  and  had  girl  friends,  and  her  work, 
and  the  freedom  to  go  to  and  from  it.  But  Grandpa! — 
his  old  heart  was  wrapped  up  in  his  Johnnie.  So  childish 
that  he  was  virtually  a  little  boy,  he  had  for  Johnnie  the 
respect  and  affection  that  a  little  boy  gives  to  a  bigger 
one. 

Next,  bright,  shining,  birdlike  eyes  were  smiling  at  him 
— Mrs.  Kukor !  The  horse  blanket  shook.  At  either  side 
of  Johnnie's  nose  a  damp  spot  came  on  One-Eye's  coat. 

But  fortunately  the  trembling  and  the  tears  were  seen 
by  no  human  eyes,  only  by  a  brown  pair  that  belonged  to 
those  brown  ears.  And  presently,  when  the  nearest 


THE  SURPRISE  97 

lights  went  out,  leaving  Johnnie's  retreat  in  gloom,  the 
pictures  that  smote  him  changed  to  those  of  a  sleeping 
dream,  and  he  wandered  on  and  on  through  a  vast  white 
garden  that  grew  hats  and  coats — in  a  double  row. 

When  he  wakened,  the  lights  were  on  again.  As  he 
rose  he  made  up  his  mind  to  win  One-Eye's  consent  to  his 
remaining  in  this  big  palace — which  had  turned  out  to 
be  a  horse  palace.  "  'Cause  I  dassn't  go  back !"  lie 
(decided.  The  enormity  of  what  he  had  done  in  leaving 
the  flat  and  staying  away  a  whole  night,  he  now  realized. 
A  creepy  feeling  traveled  up  and  down  his  spine  at  the 
thought  of  it,  and  he  shook  to  his  calloused  heels. 

Then  with  a  grin,  he  remembered  that  no  one  knew 
where  he  belonged.  Furthermore,  as  One-Eye  did  not 
believe  that  Johnnie  Smith  was  his  real  name,  he  had 
only  to  hint  that  he  was  somebody  else,  which  wyuld  throw 
his  new  friend  completely  off  the  track. 

He  leaned  against  the  stall  and  pulled  at  his  Hair,  con- 
sidering that  problem  of  staying  on.  To  his  way  of 
thinking,  there  was  only  one  good  scheme  by  which  to 
win  the  approbation  of  anybody,  and  that  scheme  was 
work.  So  when  he  had  tugged  at  his  hair  till  the  last 
straw  was  out  of  it,  he  pattered  off  down  the  runway, 
determined  to  find  some  task  that  needed  to  be  done. 

The  great  place  appeared  strangely  deserted  as  to 
men.  So  he  came  across  no  one  whom  he  could  help.  As 
for  the  occupants  of  the  giant  circle  of  stalls,  he  did  not 
know  what  service  he  could  offer  them.  He  felt  fairly  sure 
that  horses'  faces  were  not  washed  of  a  morning.  And 
they  had  all  been  fed.  But  why  not  comb  their  hair? 
Searching  up  and  down  for  a  possible  comb,  he  spied  a 
bucket.  Then  he  knew  what  he  could  do. 

The  job  was  not  without  its  drawbacks.  For  one 
thing,  the  horses  were  afraid  of  him.  They  wrenched  at 
their  hitching-chains  when  he  came  close  to  their  heels, 


98  THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

or  blew  noisily,  or  bunched  themselves  into  the  forward 
ends  of  their  stalls,  turning  on  him  startled,  white-rimmed 
eyes.  He  offered  the  dripping  bucket  only  to  the  more 
quiet  ones. 

He  worked  his  way  down  the  long  line  that  stood  near- 
est the  spigot,  now  staggering  and  splashing  as  he  lugged  a 
full  pail,  now  scampering  back  happily  with  an  empty  one. 
And  he  was  beside  a  stairway,  and  on  the  point  of  taking 
in  a  drink  to  the  horse  stalled  closest  to  the  entrance, 
when  he  heard  several  voices,  the  creak  of  doors,  and  foot- 
steps. So  he  paused,  the  bucket  swinging  from  both 
hands,  until  half  a  dozen  pairs  of  shaggy  legs  appeared 
just  above  him.  Then  as  the  big  hats  were  bobbing  into 
view,  so  that  he  knew  his  labors  could  be  seen  and  appre- 
ciated, he  faced  round  with  the  pail  and  entered  the  stall. 

The  next,  moment  there  sounded  a  dull  bang,  followed 
by  the  loud  ring  of  tin,  a  breathless  cry,  and  the  swish 
of  flying  water — as  Johnnie  came  hurtling  headlong  out 
of  the  stall,  the  bucket  preceding  him,  a  shod  hoof  in  his 
immediate  wake,  and  the  contents  of  the  pail  showering 
in  all  directions.  There  was  a  second  bang  also  dull, 
as  he  landed  against  the  bottom  step  of  the  stairs  at  the 
very  feet  of  the  horrified  men. 

A  chorus  of  cries  went  up.  But  Johnnie's  voice  was 
not  a  part  of  it.  Hurt,  winded,  and  thoroughly  scared, 
he  lay  in  a  little  ragged  heap,  a  book  thrusting  up  the 
big  shirt  here  and  there,  so  that  he  looked  to  have  broken 
not  a  few  bones. 

"That  flea-bit  mare!"  charged  One-Eye,  dropping 
Johnnie's  breakfast  and  picking  up  the  boy. 

"Pore  kid !  .  .  .  .  And  he  was  workin' !  .  .  .  .  Is  he 
hurt  bad?  ....  That  ongrateful  bronc'!  ....  Tot- 
in'  the  blamed  thing  water,  too !" — thus  they  sympathized 
with  him  as  he  swayed  against  One-Eye,  who  was  steadying 
him  on  his  feet. 


THE   SURPRISE  99 

Breath  ancl  tears  came  at  the  same  moment — the  latter 
in  spite  of  him.  But  he  wept  in  anger,  in  disappointment 
and  chagrin  and  resentment,  rather  than  in  pain.  The 
books  having  now  fallen  into  place  in  the  pouch  of  the 
shirt,  it  was  evident  there  were  no  fractures. 

"Shore  of  it,"  pronounced  One-Eye.  "I've  felt  him 
all  over." 

Furthermore,  a  book  had  undoubtedly  received  the  full 
force  of  the  implanted  hoof;  and  save  for  a  darkening 
patch  on  Johnnie's  left  arm,  he  was  as  good  as  ever, 
though  slightly  damp  as  to  both  spirits  and  clothing. 
For  it  was  his  feelings  that  were  the  more  injured.  His 
proffer  of  a  drink  had  been  repaid  by  an  ignominious  kick 
that  had  landed  upon  him  under  the  very  eyes  of  those 
whom  he  most  wanted  to  impress. 

"Now  what'd  Mister  Vanderbilt  say  if  he  knowecl!" 
mourned  One-Eye;  "or  Mister  Astor!  They'3  be  plumb 
sore  on  me! — My!  my!  my!" 

These  remarks  shifted  Johnnie's  inner  vision  to  other 
scenes,  and  having  already  guessed  that  he  was  not  broken 
in  two,  he  considered  One-Eye's  plaint  with  something  of 
a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  and  fell  once  more  to  dragging  at 
his  hair. 

Willing  hands  now  refilled  the  battered  bucket  and 
washed  his  tear-wet  face.  After  which  One-Eye  recovered 
the  breakfast — an  egg  sandwich  and  a  banana — and  pro- 
ceeded to  lay  down  the  law. 

"With  that  hurt  arm  o'  your'n,  sonny,"  he  began,  "it's 
back  to  home,  sweet  home.  And  if  that  feller,  Tom,  licks 
y',  w'y,  I'll  jes'  nat'ally  lick  him." 

"You  couldn't  lick  him,"  informed  Johnnie,  turning  his 
sandwich  about  in  search  for  a  location  thin  enough  to 
admit  of  a  first  bite.  "He's  the  strongest  longshoreman 
in  N'York.  He  can  carry  five  sacks  of  flour  on  his  back, 
and  one  under  both  arms." 


100         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR   BOY 

Disdainfully  One-Eye  lifted  his  lone  brow,  an3  Ke 
passed  over  the  remark.  "The  point  is,"  he  continued, 
"that  if  y'  ever  figger  t'  go  back,  now's  the  time." 

Johnnie  saw  the  argument.  And  to  his  own  surprise 
he  found  himself  willing  to  go.  "Prob'ly  Big  Tom'll  only 
pull  my  ear,"  he  said  philosophically.  "And  he  won't  do 
that  much,  even,  if — if  yov?\\  go  along." 

"Will  I!"  cried  One-Eye.  "Wai,  it'd  take  a  twenty- 
mule  team  t'  holt  me  back!" 

"Honest?"  For  this  fellow  was  a  wag,  and  there  was 
no  telling  what  he  really  meant  to  80. 

"If  I  don't,  I'll  eat  my  shaps !"  promised  One-Eye. 

"Then  I  guess  you  better  tie  up  my  arm,"  went  on 
Johnnie,  which  bit  of  inspired  diplomacy  sent  the  whole 
sympathizing  group  into  whoops  of  laughter. 

"Ain't  he  the  ticket?"  demanded  one  man. 

One-Eye  'lowed  that  he  was. 

The  tying  was  clone.  First  the  purplish  spot  was 
swathed  in  white;  and  as  the  injury  was  below  the  ravel- 
ing edge  of  the  sleeve,  the  bandage  was  in  plain  sight, 
and  carried  conviction  with  it.  Next  a  sling  was  made 
out  of  a  blue-patterned  handkerchief  of  One-Eye's. 
Proudly  Johnnie  contemplated  the  dressing.  Here  was 
not  only  insurance  against  a  whipping,  but  that  which' 
lent  him  a  peculiar  and  desirable  distinction. 

"You'll  go  all  the  way  up  with  me  ?"  he  asked  One-Eye. 
(Now  was  the  time  to  make  sure  of  the  future.)  "Y'  see 
it's  Sunday.  He'll  be  home." 

"Up  and  in,"  vowed  the  latter.     "Come  along!" 

There  were  hearty  good-bys  to  be  said,  and  Johnnie 
had  his  well  arm  thoroughly  shaken  before  One-Eye  helped 
him  climb  the  stairs.  He  would  gladly  have  prolonged 
his  leave-taking.  For  one  thing,  he  had  not  half  inspected 
that  mammoth  basement — not  to  mention  the  huge,  dim 
place  overhead.  'And  the  horse  that  had  kicked  him 


THE    SURPRISE  101 

merited  a  second  look.  But  "Let's  go  whilst  the  goin's 
good,"  counseled  One-Eye.  So  Johnnie  fell  in  beside  him, 
holding  well  to  the  front  that  interesting  bandage. 

"Y'  live  far?"  One-Eye  wanted  to  know.  This  was 
when  they  were  out  by  that  lamp  post  which  had  lighted 
Johnnie's  reading. 

"Clear  'way  down  to  the  other  end  of  Broadway  al- 
most," boasted  Johnnie.  'N'  then  you  go  over  towards 
the  Manhattan  Bridge." 

"That  so!  Clear  way  down! — And  how'd  y'  git  up 
this  far?"  That  green  eye  was  as  keen  as  a  blade. 

"Rode  up — in  a'  automobile."  Johnnie  did  not  like  to 
spoil  the  picture  by  explaining  that  the  automobile  was 
a  truck,  and  that  he  had  found  it  strewn  with  chicken- 
feathers. 

"All  right,"  returned  One-Eye.  "Then  jre'll  ride 
down."  Inserting  a  knuckle  into  his  mouth  between  two 
widely  separated  teeth  that  were  like  lone  sentinels,  he 
blew  a  high,  piercing  summons.  At  the  same  time,  he 
swung  his  arm  at  a  passing  taxicab,  stopping  it  almost 
electrically.  And  the  thing  was  done. 

As  the  taxicab  rolled  to  the  curb,  Johnnie  turned  his 
back  upon  it  for  a  last  look  at  the  palace.  How  huge  it 
was!  "And  I'll  bet  the  Afercan  magician  couldn't  even 
move  it,"  he  decided.  He  promised  himself  that  one  day 
he  would  come  back  to  it,  and  climb  to  its  several  towers. 

"A-a-a-a-all  aboard!"  One-Eye  lit  a  large,  magnifi- 
cently banded  cigar.  He  handed  a  second,  fully  as  thick 
and  splendid,  to  the  staring,  but  respectful,  individual  who 
was  to  drive  them — a  young,  dark  man,  very  dirty,  and  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  (he  was  seated  upon  his  coat),  who  seemed 
so  impressed  by  the  elder  of  his  passengers  as  to  be  beyond 
speech.  "Over  t'  Broadway,  and  down,"  instructed  One- 
Eye.  "We'll  tell  y'  when  t'  whoa." 

Calmly  Johnnie  climbed  into  the  taxicab,  and  carelessly 


102         THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR    BOY 

he  took  his  seat.  Then  the  car  plunged  westward  before 
a  reeking  cloud  of  its  own  smoke.  Under  way,  he  elevated 
that  small  nose  of  his  and  drank  deep  of  the — to  him — 
good  smell  of  gasoline.  Had  not  his  Aunt  Sophie  often 
pronounced  it  clean  and  healthy? 

However,  despite  this  upward  tilting,  he  did  not  appear 
to  be  at  all  proud  of  the  fact  that  he  was  riding;  and 
One-Eye  fell  to  watching  him,  that  green  eye  round  witK 
wonder.  For  here  was  this  little  ragamuffin  seated  high 
and  dry  in  a  first  class  taxi,  and  speeding  through  the  city 
in  style,  yet  with  the  supreme  indifference  of  a  young 
millionaire ! 

"City  younguns  shore  take  the  bak'ry!"  One-Eye  ob- 
served admiringly,  aiming  the  remark  at  his  driver,  who 
sat  somewhat  screwed  about  on  his  seat  in  such  a  way 
that  he  could,  from  block  to  block,  as  some  other  car 
slowed  his  machine,  regale  his  astonished  eyes  with  those 
fur-fronted  breeches. 

"Oh,  this  banana'll  be  enough,"  politely  returned 
Johnnie,  having  caught  the  word  bakery  but  missed  the 
real  meaning  of  the  statement.  Calmly  as  ever,  he  divested 
the  fruit  of  its  skin  and  cast  the  long  peelings  upon  the 
floor  of  the  cab.  In  his  time  he  had  sat  for  hours  at  a 
stretch  in  the  regal  limousines  of  Uncle  Albert's  rich 
man ;  and  he  regarded  a  taxicab  without  awe. 

One-Eye  chuckled. 

Presently  Johnnie  was  dragging  at  his  mop  as  he  ate. 
>Vhich  was  proof  that  he  was  meditating.  Indeed  he  was 
thinking  so  hard  that  he  failed  to  note  the  large  amount 
of  attention  which  he  and  his  companion  were  attracting. 
So  far  he  had  not  mentioned  Grandpa  to  this  friendly 
stranger — this  for  fear  of  harming  his  own  case,  of  has- 
tening his  return  home.  Now  the  omission  somehow  ap- 
peared to  be  almost  a  denial  of  the  truth.  Nor  had  he 


THE   SURPRISE  103 

spoken  of  Cis.  All  this  called  for  correction  before  the 
flat  was  reached. 

By  way  of  clearing  up  the  whole  matter,  he  began  with 
an  introduction  of  Cis.  "There's  a  girl  lives  where  I 
do,"  he  announced  casually. 

"Y*  don't  say!    Sister?    Cousin?    She  must  V  missed 

yV 

"No  relation  at  all.  But  she's  awful  nice — I  like  her. 
She's  sixteen,  goin'  on  seventeen,  and  I'm  goin'  t'  steal 
her  away  soon's  ever  I  grow  up." 

"I  git  y'. — Say,  Mister,  go  slow  with  this  gasoline 
bronc'  of  }rour'n !  Y'  know  I'd  like  t'  see  little  old  Cheyenne 
oncet  more  before  I  check  in," — this  to  the  chauffeur,  as 
the  taxicab  shaved  the  flank  of  a  street  car  going  at  high 
speed,  then  caromed  to  rub  axles  with  a  brother  machine. 

"You'll  meet  her,"  promised  Johnnie,  who  did  not 
think  they  were  going  too  fast,  and  who  had  completely 
forgotten  it  was  Sunday,  which  meant  that  Cis  would  be 
at  home  without  fail ;  "  'cause  once  before,  when  I  burnt 
my  hand,  she  stayed  away  from  work  two  whole  days. 
Big  Tom  never  lets  Grandpa  be  alone."  (He  thought 
that  rather  a  neat  way  to  bring  in  the  old  man.) 

With  a  sidewise  tipping  of  the  big  hat,  One-Eye  di- 
rected a  searching  look  to  the  bare  head  at  his  elbow. 
"Other  days,  you  take  care  of  said  ole  man,"  he  returned. 

Johnnie  nodded.     "I  like  him." 

The  silence  that  followed  was  embarrasing.  He  knew 
One-Eye  was  watching  him.  But  not  liking  to  glance  up, 
he  was  unable  to  judge  of  his  companion's  attitude.  So 
he  began  again,  changing  the  subject.  "Cis  is  awful 
pretty,"  he  confided.  "Once  she  was  a  May  Queen  in 
Central  Park  for  her  class  at  school,  only  it  wasn't  in 
May,  and  she  had  all  the  ice  cream  she  could  eat.  Mrs. 
Kukor  made  her  a  white  dress  for  that  time,  and  I  made 
some  art'ficial  vi'lets  for  'round  her  hair.  Oh,  she  looked 


104         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

fine!  And  she  saw  the  Prince  of  Wales  when  he  was  in 
N'York  and  ever  since  she's  liked  just  him." 

One*Eye  took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth.  "It'd  be  a 
grand  match  for  her,"  he  conceded.  His  tone  implied 
that  the  alliance  with  Royalty  was  by  no  means  a  remote 
possibility. 

"A-a-a-aw!"  scoffed  Johnnie,  flashing  up  at  One-Eye 
a  wise  smile.  "All  the  girls  at  Cis's  fac'try  seen  him,  too, 
and  they  all  like  him  just  the  same  as  she  does.  But  the 
Prince,  he's  got  t*  marry  a  Princess." 

One-Eye  agreed.  "Pretty  tough,"  he  observed  sympa- 
thetically,  and  went  back  to  his  cigar. 

"So  Cis'll  have  t'  marry  a  movin'-picture  actor,"  con- 
cluded Johnnie ;  " — or  a  cowboy." 

At  that  the  cigar  fairly  popped  from  One-Eye's  coun- 
tenance. "e\  cowboy!"  he  cried,  the  green  eye  dancing. 
"W'y,  that'd  be  better'n  a  Prince!" 

"It  would?"  Johnnie  considered  the  idea. 

"Certainly  would — t'  my  way  of  thinkinV  In  their 
brief  acquaintance  One-Eye  had  never  before  shown  such 
interest,  such  animation. 

"How  d'  you  mean?" 

"I  mean,"  answered  One-Eye,  stoutly,  "that  cowboys 
is  noble  fellers !" 

Before  Johnnie  could  argue  the  matter  further,  or  ask 
any  one  of  the  thousand  questions  that  he  would  have 
liked  to  get  explained  regarding  cowboys,  the  driver  in- 
terrupted to  demand  how  much  farther  southward  he  was 
expected  to  go;  and  as  Chambers  Street  was  even  then 
just  ahead,  the  eastern  turn  was  made  at  once,  which  set 
Johnnie  off  along  a  new  line  of  thought — his  coming  or- 
deal. 

And  this  ordeal  was  not  the  meeting  with  Big  Tom, 
which  he  dreaded  enough,  but  which  he  believed  would  not 
have  to  be  endured  for  at  least  some  hours;  it  was  the 


THE    SURPRISE  105 

Having  to  face,  in  company  with  this  rich  and  important 
acquaintance,  that  gang  of  boys  who  so  delighted  to 
taunt  him. 

Anxiously  his  gray  eyes  searched  ahead  of  the  taxicab, 
which  was  now  picking  its  way  too  swiftly  through 
streets  crowded  with  children.  This  ability  to  invest  the 
present  with  all  the  reality  of  the  future,  how  wonderful  it 
could  be ! — but  how  terrible !  For  he  was  suffering  great- 
ly in  advance,  and  writhing  on  the  leather-covered  seat, 
and  all  but  pulling  out  his  yellow  hair. 

"Arm  ache  y'?"  One-Eye  wanted  to  know. 

"Guess  so,"  faltered  Johnnie.  Then  his  face  turned  a 
sickly  pale,  and  he  shouldered  a  bit  closer  to  his  escort. 
A  feeling  of  suffocation  meant  that  his  breath  had  stopped. 
And  upon  his  untanned  forehead  oozed  the  perspira- 
tion of  dismay.  Also,  his  cheeks  mottled.  For  just  before 
them  were  two  of  those  boys  whom  he  feared !-  *-as  if  they 
had  sprung  from  a  seam  in  the  sidewalk!  They  were 
staring  at  the  taxicab.  They  were  looking  at  Johnnie 
(who  stole  a  nervous  look  back).  Now  they  were  follow- 
ing on! 

Johnnie's  jaw  set;  his  teeth  clenched.  He  steeled  him- 
self to  bear  public  insult. 

Too  many  children  had  now  brought  the  taxicab  down 
to  a  crawling  gait.  Slowly  it  rolled  on  through  shouting, 
Sunday-garbed  youngsters.  And  fast  grew  the  crowd 
which  kept  pace  with  it.  But  it  was  a  silent  crowd,  as 
Johnnie's  ears  told  him,  for  his  chin  was  on  his  breast  and 
his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  meter — in  agony,  as  if  he, 
and  not  One-Eye,  would  have  to  pay  a  charge  which  had 
already  mounted  high  in  three  figures.  Why  was  that 
crowd  silent?  And  what  were  those  boys  preparing  to 
do — two  were  now  several — who  held  all  things  in  scorn? 
who  made  even  the  life  of  the  patrolman  on  the  beat  a 
thing  to  be  dreaded? 


106          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

The  uncertainty  was  crushing. 

"Home  in  a  jiffy,"  soothed  One-Eye,  who  felt  sure  the 
ride  had  been  too  much  of  a  strain. 

"Stop  here,"  whispered  Johnnie,  catching  sight,  after 
a  turn  or  two,  of  one  of  those  entrances  which  gave  to 
the  area. 

The  taxicab  stopped.  In  a  hush  that  actually  hurt, 
One-Eye  rose  and  descended,  flipping  a  five-dollar  bill  to 
the  driver.  "But  don't  you  go,"  he  directed.  "I'll  want  y' 
t'  tote  me  back  uptown." 

Johnnie  rose  then — feebly.  Once  more  he  held  that 
bandaged  arm  to  the  front.  His  faltering  eyes  said  that 
the  injury  was  a  plea — a  plea  for  courteous  treatment 
before  this  distinguished  stranger.  Oh,  he  knew  he  was 
a  girlish-headed  ragbag,  but  if  they  would  only  spare 
him  this  once! 

One-EyC  took  his  hand.  "Step  careful,  sonny,"  he 
advised,  almost  tenderly.  Then  to  those  pressing  round, 
"Back  up,  won't  y'  ?  Give  this  boy  room  ?  Don't  y'  see  he's 
hurt?" 

This  was  what  so  emboldened  Johnnie  that  he  decided, 
even  as  a  bare  foot  sought  the  running-board  of  the  ma- 
chine, to  take  one  good  look  around.  He  paused,  there- 
fore, lifted  his  head,  and  let  his  glance  deliberately  sweep 
the  crowd. 

What  he  saw  fairly  took  his  breath;  brought  a  flusK 
to  his  sober  little  face,  and  strengthened  him,  body  and 
soul — but  especially  spine.  For  before  him  was  a  staring, 
admiring,  respectful,  yes,  and  fascinated,  even  awe-struck, 
assemblage.  There  were  grown  people  in  it.  There  were 
more  above,  to  both  sides,  leaning  out  of  windows.  And 
every  mouth  was  wide! 

Was  it  One-Eye  in  his  startling  garb?  or  the  profes- 
sional touch  to  his  own  appearance,  in  the  shape  of  that 
dramatic,  handkerchief-slung  arm?  or  was  it  both? 


THE   SURPRISE  107 

No  matter.  Instantly  reacting  to  this  solemn  recep- 
tion, Johnnie  managed  a  pale  smile.  "Much  obliged!" — 
this  he  said  gaily  as  his  feet  touched  the  concrete.  He 
was  experiencing  such  pride  as  had  been  his  before  only 
in  his  "thinks." 

This  was  a  moment  never  to  be  forgotten! 

"Now  maybe  I  better  lead — ha?"  What  satisfaction 
there  was  in  addressing  One-Eye  thus  familiarly  in  the 
teeth  of  the  enemy! 

"Break  trail!"  said  One-Eye.  Then,  "Gangway!"  he 
sang  out  to  the  crowd.  Next,  with  a  swift  circular  fling  of 
an  arm,  he  scattered  a  handful  of  small  coins  to  right 
and  left  upon  the  street. 

The  crowd  swayed,  split,  and  scattered  like  the  money. 
A  path  cleared.  One-Eye  at  his  side,  Johnnie  stepped 
forward. 

Now  he  would  have  liked  to  hang  back,  to  loiter  a  bit, 
delaying  their  disappearance,  and  enjoying  the  situation. 
But  One-Eye,  ignoring  every  one,  as  if  crowds  bored  him, 
was  headed  for  the  hall  like  a  fox  to  its  hole,  taking  long, 
impressive,  shaggy-legged  strides. 

Behind,  the  boys  Johnnie  had  feared  scrambled  without 
shame  for  One-Eye's  small  silver.  While  he,  the  "Old 
clothes,"  the  "Girl's  hair,"  the  mocked  and  despised,  was 
walking,  as  man  with  man,  beside  the  wonderful  One-Eye 
before  whom  those  same  boys  had  not  dared  to  utter  a 
single  slur ! 

His  satisfaction  was  complete! 

"Home  again !"  he  cried,  feeling  ready  to  <io  a  hop-skip 
except  that  it  would  take  away  from  the  effect  they  had 
made. 

Oh,  he  could  stand  a  whipping  in  the  privacy  of  the  flat 
if  a  whipping  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  top  of  those 
three  flights — now  that  this  public  part  of  the  return  had 
gone  so  magnificently ! 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE  DISCOVERY 

AND  yet,  after  all,  there  was  no  sense  in  taking  a 
strapping  if  it  could  just  as  well  be  avoided. 
In  the  area  he  halted  One-Eye,  and  they  talked 
the  matter  over.     The  latter  had  no  trouble  at  all  in 
seeing  Johnnie's  attitude.     "Was  a  boy  myself  oncet," 
he  declared.     "Used  t'  git  the  end  of  a  rope  ev'ry  little 
while — yejjoie,  the  knot-end,  and  that's  how " 

But  here  Johnnie  interrupted  the  story  which  seemed 
to  be  under  way  in  order  to  urge  some  plan  of  action. 
However,  it  did  not  take  long  to  fix  upon  one,  this  while 
One-Eye  was  finishing  his  cigar,  the  last  inch  of  which, 
he  asserted,  was  the  best  part,  since  in  the  process  of 
smoking  he  had  drawn  into  it  all  "the  good"  of  the  whole 
outward-extending  portion.  And  while  One-Eye  smoked, 
Johnnie,  who  felt  much  better,  went  over  their  plan  in 
detail,  talking  gaily  between  giggles. 

"But,  say !    You  be  solemn !"  warned  One-Eye. 

"We  don't  want  t'  make  'em  all  feel  too  bad,  though," 
argued  Johnnie. 

"Sonny,"  counseled  the  other,  "we'll  savvy  how  we 
oughta  behave  after  we  see  how  the  hull  proposition  strikes 
the  bunch." 

Johnnie  agreed.  But  he  already  knew  just  how  their 
entrance  (which  was  nothing  short  of  inspired)  would 
"strike"  the  flat.  He  forsaw  it  all:  first,  glad  cries  of 
"Johnnie!"  from  Cis  and  Grandpa,  and  a  frightened  ex- 

108 


THE   DISCOVERY  109 

clamation  from  Big  Tom,  whose  anger  would  instantly 
melt ;  next,  tears  would  flow  as  those  two  who  were  dearest 
hastened  to  the  prodigal,  and  there  would  be  anxious 
questions,  and  words  of  sweet  consolation.  On  the 
strength  of  the  return  perhaps  Barber  would  even  buy 
pop! 

After  that,  what  an  affecting  picture ! — the  patient  on 
his  bed  of  pain — the  maiden  with  cooling  cloth  and  wash 
basin — the  loving  and  much-troubled  old  man  who  did  not 
dare  wheel  about  for  fear  of  jarring  the  hurt  arm — a  cer- 
tain square-built  lady,  rocking  this  way  and  that  (on  her 
toes),  her  face  all  motherly  solicitude — the  stranger,  with 
the  gravest  possible  bedside  manner — and,  lastly,  hover- 
ing somewhere  in  the  offing,  the  outstanding  figure  of 
the  whole  composition,  the  humbled  bully. 

When  Johnnie  asked  for  his  bed  (which  was  part  of  the 
plan,  for  those  books  must  be  concealed  undy  the  quilt 
till  dark),  how  they  would  all  jump  to  fetch  it;  and  when 
he  asked  for  tea  what  an  eager  bustling,  Barber  rattling 
the  stove  lids,  and — for  once! — getting  his  huge  fingers 
smudged,  and  Cis  filling  the  kettle  at  the  Falls  of  Ni- 
agara. The  tea  brewed,  and  Johnnie  propped  to  drink  it, 
with  Mrs.  Kukor  to  hold  the  cup  to  his  lips,  he  would 
smile  across  at  One-Eye  as  he  sipped — but  smile  only 
faintly,  as  befits  the  very  ill. 

And  then !  One-Eye,  urged  by  all  the  others,  would  tell 
his  tale  of  the  boy,  weary  and  hungry,  whom  he  chanced 
upon  wandering  some  street  (he  had  promised  not  to  say 
which  one!),  and  escorted  to  supper,  and  afterward  to 
the  great  horse  palace.  He  would  relate  how  he  had  in- 
sisted that  Johnnie  sleep  in  the  palace  that  night,  thougK 
— no  doubt  of  it ! — the  latter  had  fretted  to  return  home. 
"But  I  jes5  couldn't  leave  him  do  it,  no  matter  how  much' 
he  begged,"  One-Eye  was  to  declare ;  "he  was  that  tuck- 


110         THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR    BOY 

ered.     And  this  mornin',  here  he  was,  workin'!  Say,  but 
he's  a  A-l  worker!" 

What  a  chorus  would  interrupt  him! — a  chorus  of 
agreement.  Then  would  follow  a  description  of  that  ter- 
rible flea-bitten  mare,  and  of  Johnnie's  bravery;  of  the 
fierce  kick,  and  the  boy's  quiet  bearing  of  his  agony,  all 
closing  with  a  word  about  the  wound  and  its  seriousness. 

Next,  it  would  be  Big  Tom's  turn.  And  he  would  tell 
of  a  home  bereft,  of  an  old  man's  pitiful  grief  (oh,  dear, 
loving  Grandpa!),  and  of  two  broken-hearted  ladies. 
Doubtless  the  longshoreman  would  touch  also  upon  the 
fact  that  he  was  considerably  out  of  pocket,  but  Johnnie 
would  not  mind  that. 

Cis,  likely,  would  have  nothing  to  say,  but  would  look 
all  she  felt;  and  Grandpa  would  sandwich  a  few  words 
in  between  other  people's.  But  Mrs.  Kukor !  Hers  would 
be  the  stfry  worth  hearing!  Oh,  that  volume  of  broken- 
English!  Johnnie  counted  upon  it. 

With  such  pleasing  thoughts  he  occupied  himself  as  he 
and  One-Eye  stole  up  the  stairs.  But  when  they  were 
just  outside  the  door  of  the  flat,  the  chimes  of  Trinity 
began  to  ring,  sounding  above  the  grinding  of  the  nearest 
Elevated  Railroad.  Those  clanging  summons  reminded 
Johnnie  that  Big  Tom  would  surely  be  at  home,  and  he 
suffered  a  sudden  qualm  of  apprehension.  He  looked 
longingly  over  a  shoulder,  wishing  he  might  turn  back. 
He  had  a  "gone"  feeling  under  his  belt,  and  a  tickling  in 
his  throat  (it  was  very  dry),  as  if  his  heart  had  traveled 
up  there  and  got  wedged,  and  was  now  going  like  Uncle 
'Albert's  watch. 

But  of  course  there  could  be  no  turning  back — not  now. 
They  must  go  in.  And  quickly,  for  a  few  of  the  curious 
had  followed  them  up  from  the  area  and  were  making 
too  much  noise  in  the  halls.  So  One-Eye  bent  and 
scooped  Johnnie  up  in  his  arms,  holding  him  in  a  horizontal 


THE   DISCOVERY  111 

position — yellow  head  hanging  down  to  one  side,  both  feet 
ditto  to  the  other,  body  limp,  the  bandaged  arm  well  for- 
ward, the  eyes  closed,  all  toes  still,  and — most  important 
— an  expression  of  bravely  endured  pain. 

"Look  as  pale  as  ever  y'  can !"  whispered  One-Eye. 

All  this  preparation  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Then 
One-Eye  gave  the  door  a  vigorous  and  imperative  kick. 
At  the  same  time  he  began  to  talk  to  Johnnie,  anxiously, 
soothingly :  "It's  all  right,  sonny !  It's  all  right !  Keep 
a  stiff  upper  lip !  'Cause  y're  home  now.  Pore  kid !  My ! 
That  was  a  lucky  'scape !" 

This  last  was  spoken  into  the  kitchen,  for  Cis  had  sped 
to  answer  the  kick,  and  swung  the  door  wide. 

And  now  Johnnie,  eyes  tight  closed,  but  with  ears 
cocked,  waited  for  that  expected  burst  of  greeting — that 
mingling  of  glad  cries  and  so  forth.  But — t^ere  was 
dead  silence. 

In  astonishment  up  went  the  flaxen  lashes.  And 
Johnnie  saw  that  while  Cis  was  looking  with  all  her 
might,  it  was  not  at  him!  And  Grandpa,  mouse-still, 
was  not  looking  at  him  either !  Nor  was  Big  Tom,  putting 
down  his  pipe  at  the  table. 

Furthermore  there  were  no  tears  from  any  quarter, 
and  no  pitying  glances,  and  not  a  sign  of  relief !  The  trio 
before  him,  in  what  seemed  to  be  amazed  fascination,  were 
staring  at  One-Eye ! 

It  was  Big  Tom  who  spoke  first.  His  face,  after  its 
Sunday  shave,  wrinkled  into  a  really  bright  smile.  "Well, 
by  thunder !"  he  cried. 

"Oh,  my !" — this  was  Cis,  whose  hands  were  clasped  in 
what  to  Johnnie  seemed  a  very  silly  way.  And  she  was 
wearing  her  exalted,  Prince-of- Wales  expression. 

He  was  irritated,  and  resentful,  and  stung  to  the  quick. 
What  was  the  matter  with  them  ?  Oh,  none  of  them  cared ! 
They  were  acting  precisely  like  that  crowd  around  the 


112          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

taxi !    And,  oh,  there  would  be  no  pop !    And,  oh,  what — 
•what  would  One-Eye  think. 

Johnnie  burst  into  tears. 

One-Eye  was  already  thinking.  WitK  Johnnie  held 
tight  in  his  arras,  he  had  been  staring  at  each  of  the  trio 
in  turn,  that  single  eye  getting  harder  and  harder,  till 
it  looked  as  if  it  were  made  of  glass ;  till  it  resembled  a 
green  marble;  and  his  mustache,  as  he  puckered  up  his 
mouth  in  astonishment,  had  been  lifting  and  falling,  lift- 
ing and  falling. 

But  as  Johnnie's  sobs  came,  One-Eye  half  turned,  as  if 
to  go,  then  spied  the  kitchen  chair,  and  sat  heavily,  in 
sheer  disgust.  "Wai,  I'll  be  jig-sawed!"  he  vowed.  "The 
kid's  right  ?  And  I  might  'a'  knowed  it !" 

But  things  got  better.  For  now  there  swelled  forth  a 
high,  thiR  wail  from  old  Grandpa,  whose  pale  eyes  had 
been  roving  in  search  for  the  one  who  was  weeping,  had 
discovered  Johnnie,  and  was  echoing  his  grief. 

"Oh,  shut  up,  Pa !"  ordered  Barber  harshly ;  while  Cis, 
for  fear  the  neighbors  would  hear,  unwittingly  shut  the 
hall  door  in  the  face  of  Mrs.  Kukor,  who  had  come  out  of 
her  own  place  at  One-Eye's  kick  to  see  what  was  happen- 
ing. 

"I'll  be  stop-watched  and  high-kaflummoxed !"  con- 
tinued One-Eye.  Round  and  round  rolled  that  green  mar- 
ble, gathering  fire  with  each  revolution.  In  fact  it  looked 
to  be  more  fiercely  glowing  than  any  two  eyes — as  single 
eyes  have  the  habit  of  looking. 

Big  Tom  was  beaming  at  the  stranger  again,  unaware 
of  One-Eye's  temper.  "Say,  I  never  had  a'  idear  of  meet- 
in'  one  of  you,"  he  declared  heartily,  "But  I'm  glad  to,  I'll 
say  that.  Yes,  sir,  I'm  glad  to  !  By  thunder !"  His  look 
traveled  up  and  down  One-Eye,  not  missing  a  detail. 

"Look-a-here !"  returned  One-Eye  with  insulting  cold- 
ness. "This  boy's  hurt!  Hurt  bad\  Y'  savvy?  Weak, 


THE   DISCOVERY  113 

too — weak's  a  cat!  And  sick!  Done  up!  Sore!  Wore 
ow£!"  He  paused,  glaring. 

"Boo-hoo !" — Johnnie's  heart  was  wrung  by  the  pitiful 
description. 

It  was  now  that  something  of  the  effect  Johnnie  had 
pleasantly  imagined  was  finally  gained.  With  a  distress- 
ful "Oh !"  Cis  came  to  him,  while  Grandpa  began  to  shrill 
"Johnnie!  Johnnie!"  and  tried  to  get  away  from  Big 
Tom,  who  held  back  the  chair  by  a  wheel  as  he,  too,  gave 
a  thought  to  the  patient. 

"What  happened  to  the  kid?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

One-Eye  aimed  his  one  orb  at  Big  Tom  as  if  it  were  a 
bullet.  "What?"  he  repeated.  "¥'  ask,  do  y'?  Wai,  it 
was  a  hoss.  It  was  a  kick."  Then  to  Johnnie,  "Could 
y'  shift  weight,  sonny?"  (One  of  the  five  books  was  stab- 
bing One-Eye  in  the  side.) 

"I  want  t'  know!"  marveled  Big  Tom.  "./Ay  bones 
broke?"  He  leaned  to  feel  of  the  unwrapped  part  of 
Johnnie's  hurt  arm. 

The  indifferent  tone,  the  hated,  ungentle  touch,  and  the 
nearness  of  the  longshoreman,  all  worked  to  unman 
Johnnie,  who  gave  way  again.  He  did  not  fear  a  whip- 
ping any  longer.  It  was,  as  Mrs.  Kukor  might  have  put 
it,  "somethink  yet  again."  Over  him  had  swept  the  real- 
ization that  soon  this  kind,  free-handed,  lovable  One-Eye 
would  be  taking  his  leave,  and  with  him  would  go — well, 
about  everything! 

Oh,  his  dear  millionaire !  His  soul  of  generosity !  The 
giver  of  the  best  supper  ever !  A  man  who  could  command 
such  respect  that  he  had  struck  the  whole  of  the  East 
Side  dumb !  The  source  of  one  boy's  sweet  glory ! 

And  how  Johnnie  hated  the  thought  of  being  left  be- 
hind! He  blamed  himself  for  returning.  "O-o-o-o-oh !" 
he  moaned  miserably.  How  mean  and  greedy  and  cruel 


114          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

and  awful  Big  Tom  seemed  now,  measured  alongside  this 
superb  stranger ! 

Yet  what  Johnnie  did  not  guess  was  that  Barber  was 
overjoyed  at  his  return;  was  more  relieved  at  having  an 
excuse  for  not  whipping  than  Johnnie  was  over  not  being 
whipped,  since  punishment  might  decide  the  latter,  on 
some  future  occasion,  to  stay  away.  Indeed,  Big  Tom 
had  had  a  scare. 

"Not  a  bone!"  answered  One-Eye,  almost  proudly. 
"Neat  a  kick  as  ever  I  seen.  Reckon  the  bucket  took 
up  most  of  it.  But  it's  bad  enough.  Yas,  ma'am.  And 
it'll  be  a  week  afore  he  oughta  use  it." 

"I  want  my  bed !"  quavered  Johnnie,  remembering  that 
part  of  the  plan. 

Cis  brought  the  bedding,  and  her  own  snowy  pillow, 
fragrant  with  orris  root.  As  she  straightened  out  the 
clothes  Sad  plumped  the  pillow,  Big  Tom  stayed  in  front 
of  the  visitor,  staring  as  hard  as  ever,  his  great  underlip 
hanging1  down,  and  that  big  nose  taking  a  sidewise  dart 
every  now  and  then. 

"Well!  well!  I'm  glad  y*  happened  t'  bring  the  kid 
home,"  he  began  again.  "Must  be  grand  country  out 
where  you  come  from.  How  far  West  d'  y'  live,  anyhow? 
And  I'd  like  your  name." 

"This  is  Mister  One-Eye,"  introduced  Johnnie,  his  well 
arm  twined  proudly  about  the  stranger's  leathery  neck. 
It  was  plain  that  the  longshoreman  was  powerfully  im- 
pressed. And  Johnnie  realized  better  than  ever  that  he 
had  brought  home  a  real  personage. 

"Yep,  call  me  One-Eye  and  I'll  come,"  declared  the 
personage.  "But  now  the  bed's  ready,  sonny."  He  rose 
and  gently  deposited  Johnnie  upon  the  pallet.  "Now 
keep  quiet,"  he  advised  kindly,  "so's  t'  git  back  some 
strength."  And  to  Cis,  "Reckon  we  better  give  him  a 
swaller  o'  tea." 


THE   DISCOVERY  115 

Mrs.  Kukor,  who  had  been  waiting  all  the  while  in  the 
hall,  and  could  stand  it  no  longer,  now  came  rocking  in, 
her  olive  face  picked  out  with  dimples,  it  was  working  so 
hard,  and  all  her  crinkly  hair  standing  bushily  up. 

"Is  that  you,  Mother?"  cried  old  Grandpa.  "Is  that 
you?" — which  misled  One-Eye  into  the  belief  that  here 
was  another  member  of  the  family,  one  whom  Johnnie  had 
omitted  to  mention.  So  the  green  eye  focused  upon  the 
mattress  in  sorrowful  reproof. 

But  the  next  instant  a  burst  of  dialect  set  Johnnie 
right  in  his  new  friend's  eye.  "Ach,  Chonnie!"  cried  the 
little  Jewish  lady.  "Vot  iss?  Vot  iss?" 

Her  concern  pleased  One-Eye.  He  sat  down,  crossed 
his  knees,  and  swung  a  spur. 

Mrs.  Kukor  had  not  yet  seen  him.  She  had  stationed 
herself  at  the  foot  of  Johnnie's  bed,  from  where  she  looked 
down,  her  birdlike  eyes  glistening  with  pity,  her  head 
wagging,  her  hands  now  waving,  now  resting  upon  a  heart 
that  was  greatly  affected  by  the  sight  of  Johnnie  in  pain. 

But  Johnnie,  looking  up  at  her,  knew  that  his  hurt  arm 
was  not  the  whole  of  her  grief;  knew  that  she  was  think- 
ing how  much  to  blame  she  was  herself  for  all  that  had 
happened.  Guilt  was  on  her  round  face,  and  remorse  in 
her  wagging.  That  book !  That  Alattin!  Ach,  that  she 
had  never  given  him  that  present.  Oy !  oy !  oy ! 

Big  Tom  was  making  conversation.  "Guess  all  of  you 
work  pretty  hard  out  where  you  live,"  he  declared,  " — even 
if  you  do  jus'  set  on  a  horse.  But  you  bet  you'd  find 
my  job  harder.  I  tell  y',  I  do  my  share  when  it  comes  to 
the  heavy  work."  His  tongue  pushed  out  one  cheek,  then 
the  other,  a  habit  of  his  when  boasting.  "Why,  there 
ain't  a  man  workin'  with  me  that  can  do  more'n  two-thirds 
what  I  do !  They  all  know  it,  too.  'Barber's  the  guy 
with  the  cargo-hook,'  is  what  they  say.  And  Furman  ad- 
mits himself  that  I'm  the  only  man's  that's  really  earnin* 


116         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

that  last  raise.  Yes,  sir!  'Tom  Barber's  steel-construc- 
ted,' is  what  he  tells  the  boys." 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Kukor,  still  unaware  of  a  strange 
presence,  had  been  whispering  excitedly  with  Cis,  from 
whom  she  had  got  the  facts  concerning  the  wound.  But 
even  as  she  had  listened,  she  had  been  aware  that  Barber 
was  talking,  quietly,  politely,  good-naturedly.  Surprised, 
she  came  half- about  ("goin'  exacly  like  a  spud  with 
tooth-pick  laigs,"  as  One-Eye  said  afterwards,  though  not 
unkindly),  and  took  a  look  in  the  longshoreman's  direc- 
tion. And — saw  the  visitor. 

Her  hands  dropped,  her  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon 
those  fur-faced  breeches,  her  bosom  stopped  heaving  as 
she  held  her  breath.  Then,  "Ach !"  she  cried.  "Could  I 
believe  it  if  so  I  did-ent  saw  it? — Mister  Barber,  how 
comes  h^e  a  cowpoy?" 

A  cowboy? 

Then  it  was  Johnnie  who  experienced  sensations :  Sur- 
prise —  bewilderment  —  doubt  —  staggering  belief  —  awe 
— j°v — more  joy — pride — triumph! 

He  sat  up. 

Now  he  understood  why  the  shaggy  breeches  Had  struck 
him  as  somehow  familiar.  Of  course!  He  had  seen  just 
such  a  pair  pictured  on  the  billboard  across  from  the 
millionaire's  garage.  Now  he  realized  how  he  had  seared 
the  sight  of  his  enemies  as  he  and  the  Great  One  arrived 
side  by  side  in  a  taxicab! — Yet  no  one  must  ever  know 
that  he  had  been  in  the  dark !  "Why,  yes,  Mrs.  Kukor !" 
he  cried.  "My  goodness!  This  is  a  reg'lar  one!"  (At 
which  One-Eye  colored,  blending  his  bronze  with  a  bash- 
ful purple.) 

"A  cowpoy!"  whispered  Mrs.  Kukor,  as  if  in  a  daze. 
"Pos-i-tiwle !  Mit  furs  on  hiss  pants,  und  everythink!" 


CHAPTER  XII 


LEANING  on  his  well  elbow,  Johnnie  related  to  Mrs. 
Kukor  and  Cis  and  Grandpa  the  whole  story  of 
what  had  happened  to  him;  and  they  paid  such 
rapt  attention  to  him  that  at  the  most  they  did  not 
interrupt  him  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  times.  "And, 
oh,  didn't  everything  turn  out  just  fine?"  he  cried  in  end- 
ing. "T5  be  found  by  a  cowboy  and  fetched  home  in  a* 
auto !  and — all  ?"  • 

Mrs.  Kukor  vowed  that  she  dass-ent  to  deny  how 
everytink  about  it  wass  both  stylish  und  grand ! 

Next,  he  had  to  hear  what  had  transpired  after  his 
departure;  how  every  one  had  taken  his  going,  especially 
Big  Tom — now  gone  out  to  escort  One-Eye  to  the  taxi. 

"I  tells  to  him,  'Sure  does  Chonnie  go  for  sometink'," 
declared  Mrs.  Kukor.  But  Barber  had  known  better,  and 
contradicted  her  violently.  "Und  so  I  tells  to  him  over 
that,  'Goot!  Goot!  if  he  runs  away!  In  dis  house  so 
much,  it  ain't  healthy  for  him!'  Und  I  shakes  my  fingers 
be-f ront  of  hiss  big  nose !" 

Mrs..  Kukor  had  to  go  then,  remembering  with  a  start 
that  she  had  a  filled  fish  cooking.  She  rushed  out  at  a 
thumping  gallop.  Then  the  whole  adventure  was  told 
a  second  time,  Johnnie  sitting  up  with  Grandpa's  hat: 
cocked  over  one  eye,  and  drawling  in  fine  imitation  of 
their  late  guest. 

When  Barber  came  back,  he  was  not  able  to  let  matters 

117 


118         THE    RICH   LITTLE   POOR    BOY 

pass  without  a  brief  scolding  for  Johnnie,  and  a  threat. 
"Y'  go  and  git  yourself  laid  up,"  he  complained,  coming 
to  stand  over  the  pallet  on  the  floor;  "so's  you  can't  do 
your  work,  and  earn  your  keep.  Well,  a  good  kick  was 
the  right  pay  for  runnin'  away.  And  now  let  me  tell  y* 
this,  and  I  mean  it:  if  y'  ever  run  away  again,  y'  won't 
git  took  back.  Hear  me?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Johnnie,  almost  carelessly. 
Barber  said  no  more,  realizing  that  if  Johnnie  could 
run  away  once  he  could  again.  Even  without  grumbling 
the  longshoreman  helped  Cis  to  put  the  wash  to  soak  in 
the  round,  galvanized  tub  that  stood  on  its  side  under  the 
Idish  cupboard — a  Sunday  night  duty  that  was  Johnnie's, 
and  was  in  preparation  for  the  hated  laundry  work  which 
he  always  did  so  badly  of  a  Monday. 

Late  that  night,  in  the  closet-room,  with  the  cloor  shu? 
and  a  st^ib  of  candle  lighted,  Johnnie  heard  Cis's  story  of 
what  had  happened  in  the  flat  following  her  return  from 
the  factory,  her  lunch  still  in  its  neat  camera-box. 

"I — I  just  couldn't  believe  it  was  so!"  she  whispered, 
ready  to  weep  at  the  mere  recollectioin  of  her  shock  and 
grief.  "And,  oh,  promise  me  you  won't  ever  go  away 
again!"  she  begged,  brown  head  on  one  side  and  tears  in 
her  eyes;  "and  I'll  promise  never  to  leave  you — never, 
never,  never,  never!" 

Johnnie  would  not  promise.  "I'm  goin'  to  be  a  cow- 
boy," he  declared  calmly ;  "but  after  I  go,  why,  I'll  come 
back  soon's  as  I  can  and  take  you.  And  maybe,  after 
the  Prince  is  married,  you'll  forget  him,  and  like  a  cow- 
boy." 

Cis  shook  her  head.  Hers  was  an  affection  not  lightly 
bestowed  nor  easily  withdrawn  from  its  dear  object.  "I 
saw  HIM  go  into  the  Waldorf-Astoria  by  the  floor  on  the 
Thirty-third  Street  side,"  she  recalled  tenderly.  Recollec- 


A  PRODIGAL   PUFFED   UP  119 

tion  brought  a  sweet,  far-away  look  into  those  violet-blue 
eyes. 

Johnnie  took  this  moment  to  fish  from  his  shirt  his  five 
books,  laying  them  one  by  one  on  the  bed-shelf  at  Cis's 
feet,  from  where  she  caught  up  the  new  ones,  marveling 
over  them. 

"I  thought  there  was  something  funny  about  your 
looks,"  she  declared.  "I  kept  still,  though. — Oh,  Johnnie 
Smith,  have  you  been  robbing  somebody?" 

When  he  had  enjoyed  her  excitement  and  anxiety  to  the 
full,  she  was  told  all  about  the  book  shop  and  the  million- 
aire, and  the  lady,  and  the  book  with  the  dollar  bill,  after 
which  he  again  showed  those  books  which  he  had  purchased 
with  the  money. 

"Oh,  you  silly !"  she  cried.  "You  didn't  do  anything  of 
the  kind!  They  bought  'em  for  you — all  those  nice  peo- 
ple!" ' 

It  was  hard  to  convince  him,  but  at  last  she  did,  this  by 
pointing  out  to  him  the  price  marked  in  each  book,  a  sum 
that  took  his  breath  away.  Three  dollars  and  a  half  apiece 
they  were!  More  than  ten  altogether!  ("Und  in  kesh- 
money !"  Mrs.  Kukor  marveled  afterward,  when  she  knew.) 
His  eyes  got  a  far-away  expression  as  he  thought  about  the 
generosity  of  those  strangers.  Oh,  how  good  strangers 
were  to  a  person !  It  almost  seemed  that  the  less  you  knew 
somebody —  But,  no,  that  was  not  true,  because  Mrs. 
Kukor 

"Tell  me  more  about  Mr.  One-Eye,"  whispered  Cis. 
"But  what  a  name  for  a  man!  He  can't  be  called  just 
that !  How  could  you  write  him  a  letter?  Don't  you  know 
the  rest  of  it,  Johnnie?  It's  One-eye  What?" 

"Just  One-Eye,"  returned  Johnnie.  "That's  what  they 
all  called  him.  Maybe  cowboys  don't  have  two  names  like 
common  men.  What's  the  good  of  two  names,  anyhow?" 

Cis  was  shocked.    "Everybody  has  to  have  two  names," 


120          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

she  told  him,  severely.  "The  first  is  yours,  and  is  your 
mother's  fav'rite,  and  the  other  shows  who  your  father  is. 
Or  maybe,  if  you're  a  second  child,  your  mother  allows 
your  father  to  name  you.  But  it's  civilized  to  have  two 
names,  and  not  a  bit  nice  if  you  don't — unless  you're  a  dog 
or  a  horse." 

Johnnie  lifted  an  inspired  finger,  pointing  straight  at 
her.  "Everybody?"  he  asked.  "Well,  what  about  the 
Prince  of  Wales?  His  name  is  Eddie.  Eddie  What?" 

"Why — why — "     She  was  confused. 

"Horse  or  dog!"  scoffed  Johnnie.  "Don't  you  b'lieve 
it?  You  mean  Princes  and  cowboys!" 

Cis  had  to  admit  herself  wrong. 

"When  I  heard  One-Eye  speak,  that  first  time,"  He  in- 
formed her,  "I  was  afraid  he  was  J.  J.  Hunter,  come  for 
Aladdm" 

They  iaughed  at  that,  fairly  rocking.  After  which 
they  returned  to  the  more  personal  aspects  of  One-Eye. 
"What  makes  him  keep  his  hat  on?"  she  wanted  to  know. 
"That  isn't  good  manners  at  all.  I  just  know  the  Prince 
wouldn't  do  it.  Why,  every  time  I  saw  the  Prince  he  kept 
taking  his  hat  off.  My !" 

"Cowboys  always  keep  their  hats  on,"  Johnnie  asserted 
stoutly.  "Maybe  if  they  didn't,  their  horses  wouldn't  know 
'em.  Anyhow,  they  all  do.  Don't  I  know  ?  I  saw  dozens  !" 

Well,  if  they  did,  then  Cis  thought  them  a  strange  lot. 
"And  do  all  of  them  chew  tobacco?"  she  persisted.  "Be- 
cause I'm  sure  he  does." 

Johnnie  was  insulted.  He  denied  anything  of  the  kind. 
He  grew  heated,  resenting  this  criticism  of  one  who  held 
that  cowboys  were  noble.  One-Eye  smoked — even  when 
signs  said  he  might  not.  And  could  any  man  smoke  and 
chew  at  the  same  time?  He  did  not  believe  it,  though  he 
was  willing  to  admit  that  if  any  man  could  perform  these 


A  PRODIGAL  PUFFED   UP  121 

two  feats  simultaneously,  that  man  was  certainly  the  in- 
comparable One-Eye. 

"Anyhow,  he's  awful  homely,"  continued  Cis,  who  could 
be  as  irritating  as  most  girls  at  times. 

Johnnie  rose  then,  cold  and  proud.  "Honest,  Cis,  you 
make  me  sick !"  he  told  her.  "Homely !  Huh !"  He  would 
have  liked  to  cast  an  aspersion  upon  a  certain  Royal 
countenance,  just  to  get  even,  but  feared  Cis  might  refuse 
to  hide  his  books  for  him.  However,  he  decided  that  he 
would  never  again  be  as  nice  as  formerly  to  King  George's 
son.  He  left  the  tiny  room,  nose  in  air. 

She  did  not  follow  him  with  apologies.  And  presently 
he  stole  back  to  her  door  and  moved  the  knob  softly. 
"Cis !"  he  whispered.  "What's  a  vallay  ?" 

She  peeped  out.    "What's  a  what?" 

"A  v-a-1-l-a-y?" 

"Oh ! — A  valley's  a  scoopy  place  between  two  nills." 

A  scoopy  place  between  two  hills !  How  like  a  girl's 
was  the  answer !  Her  candle  was  out,  her  tone  sleepy.  He 
did  not  argue.  Flat  upon  his  pallet  once  more,  with  both 
hands  under  his  yellow  head,  he  smiled  into  the  black  of 
the  kitchen,  telling  himself  that  he  would  not  change  places 
with  any  boy  in  the  whole  of  the  great  sleeping  city. 


CHAPTER  XHI 

CHANGES 

IT  was  a  blue  Monday.  In  fact,  it  was  the  bluest  Mon- 
day that  Johnnie  had  ever  spent  in  the  flat.  The  urge 
of  unrest  was  upon  him.  He  had  been  out  once,  and 
far  into  the  great  world.  And,  oh,  how  he  yearned  to  go 
out  again!  And  just  wander  up  Broadway  to  Fifth  Ave- 
nue, the  morning  sun  on  his  back,  and  the  wind  in  his  hair, 
while  he  srave  more  strangers  an  opportunity  to  do  those 
pleasant  and  generous  things  which  it  seemed  the  privilege 
of  strangers  to  do.  A  second  trip,  and  there  was  no  tell- 
ing but  that  he  might  come  back  to  the  flat  fairly  bowed 
under  a  load  of  things ! 

He  took  a  peep  at  his  books;  but  he  could  not  settle 
down  to  read.  And  he  was  able  to  get  through  with  a 
hasty  trip  to  Chickamauga  by  forcing  himself  to  be  patient 
with  Grandpa.  Also,  that  morning  was  a  bad  one  for 
millionaires.  He  called  up  none  of  the  four.  If  a  million- 
aire had  chanced  by  and  offered  to  adopt  him,  Johnnie 
would  have  said  a  flat  No.  Cowboys !  Rivals,  these  were, 
of  the  famous  quartette.  And  the  moment  Grandpa  was 
asleep,  Johnnie  got  on  the  telephone,  called  up  one  of  the 
larger  stores,  and  ordered  a  complete  cowboy  outfit — from 
hat  to  spurs.  And  having  received  his  order  with  light- 
ning rapidity,  he  put  it  on  at  once,  and  began  to  stride  to 
and  fro,  gesturing  and  talking  bad  grammar  in  his  best 
possible  imitation  of  One-Eye.  He  ended  this  fascinating 
game  by  trying  to  pinch  his  eye  in  the  door. 

122 


CHANGES  123 

Naturally  the  door  led  to  the  idea  of  taking  a  walk. 

And  the  walk  made  him  think  of  the  dog.  He  had  seen 
a  handsome  dog  while  he  was  riding  in  the  truck — a  black 
dog  with  a  brown  spot  over  each  eye.  At  once  he  deter- 
mined to  have  one  like  it.  "Here!  Boof!  Boof!"  he 
called.  And  the  dog  came  to  him  across  the  kitchen,  wag- 
ging a  bushy  tail,  and  was  warmly  greeted,  and  fed.  A 
fine,  shining  dog  collar  was  then  ordered  and  presented, 
after  which  Johnnie  made  a  hasty  toilet  by  splashing  his 
face  with  his  well  hand  and  drying  it  on  the  cup  towel, 
and  the  two  started  off. 

There  was  no  fire  in  the  stove,  and  Johnnie  told  him- 
self that  there  was  nothing  to  worry  about  in  leaving 
Grandpa  behind  for  a  little  while.  Without  haste,  this 
time,  and  without  even  a  thought  of  Big  Tom,  Johnnie  sal- 
lied forth,  the  dog  at  his  side. 

He  had  no  misgivings  as  to  the  treatment  he  would  re- 
ceive from  the  boys  of  the  neighborhood.  The  question 
of  his  social  standing  had  been  settled.  He  even  got  ready 
to  whistle  a  tune,  so  that  if  any  boy's  back  was  turned, 
and  there  was  danger  of  Johnnie's  not  being  seen,  he  could 
call  attention  to  himself — he,  the  intimate  friend  of  a  real 
cowboy. 

But  every  one  saw  him.  That  was  because  he  took  his 
time.  On  the  other  hand,  he  saw  no  one;  but  paid  the 
closest  attention  to  signs,  and  windows,  to  carts,  and  the 
contents  of  shops,  and  he  halted  to  pet  an  occasional  horse, 
or  to  shy  a  bit  of  brick  at  a  water  plug.  Thus  he  trav- 
eled the  four  sides  of  his  block.  Whenever  he  met  boys, 
they  were  too  impressed  to  be  saucy.  He  sauntered  past 
them,  his  hands  in  his  big  pockets,  his  chin  in  the  air. 

"Well,  y'  see  how  it  is,"  he  observed  to  Boof  as  they 
turned  homeward.  And  he  swaggered. 

Back  in  his  area,  he  found  a  small  gathering — several 
children,  a  few  women,  and  one  old  man.  He  blushed  out 


124.          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

of  sheer  happiness,  believing  them  to  be  drawn  up  to  see 
the  Friend  of  a  Cowboy  pass  in.  And  he  climbed  the 
stairs,  whistling  as  he  went,  and  smiling  to  himself  in  the 
dusk  of  the  poorly  lighted  halls. 

Entering  the  flat,  he  found  One-Eye.  At  first  he  could 
not  trust  his  eyes,  for  his  new  dog  had  followed  in,  and 
was  wagging  a  black  tail,  and  he  could  see  the  dog  as 
plainly  as  he  could  see  his  friend.  But  noting  that  Grandpa 
was  playing  with  a  red  apple,  he  knew  that  the  cowboy 
was  really  there. 

So  that  was  why  there  had  been  a  crowd  in  the  area! 

But  he  did  not  rush  to  One-Eye.  For  some  reason  or 
other  his  feet  were  stone,  and  he  felt  shame — and  guilt. 
He  said  a  low-spoken  Hello ! 

There  was  no  warmth  in  One-Eye's  greeting,  either. 
"Knocked,"  informed  the  Westerner.  "Got  no  answer. 
Then  I  heard  the  ole  gent  kinda  whinin',  and  so  I  come  in." 
While  he  talked,  that  single  green  eye  was  peering  out  of 
the  kitchen  window.  The  tanned  face  wore  a  curious,  stern 
look. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Johnnie,  swallowing.  "He  always  is 
like  that  if  I  go  out  t'  walk  a  little."  His  heart  was  sorer 
than  ever.  He  felt  helpless,  and  forlorn.  A  wall  had  risen 
between  himself  and  his  wonderful  friend.  And  he  wished 
that  One-Eye  would  burst  out  at  him  as  Barber  would 
have  done,  and  give  him  a  piece  of  his  mind — oh,  anything 
but  this  manner  so  polite  yet  so  full  of  cool  displeasure! 

However,  One-Eye  had  a  second  apple,  which  he  pre- 
sented to  Johnnie,  and  this  helped  to  clear  the  air.  And 
the  latter,  hoping  to  win  back  One-Eye's  good  opinion, 
wiped  off  a  table  knife,  halved  the  apple,  and  scraped  it, 
giving  the  juicy  scrapings  to  the  toothless  old  soldier. 

At  once  One-Eye  became  less  absent-minded.  "Wai, 
how's  the  arm?"  he  asked.  "The  boys  tole  me  t*  shore 
find  out." 


CHANGES  125 

"Oh,  it  hurts  a  little,"  declared  Johnnie,  "but  I  don't 
mind.  Say,  how's  the  cross  horse?"  One  half  of  the  apple 
scraped,  Johnnie  ate  the  red  shell  of  it.  "And  have  y'  been 
to  the  rest'rant  again  ?  And  I  s'pose  all  them  white-dressed 
men  and  ladies,  they  can  eat  all  they  want  to  of  ev'ry  kind 
of  de-licious  things !" 

One-Eye  'lowed  they  could.  That  lone  orb  of  his  was 
roving  about  the  flat  as  if  he  was  looking  for  some  one. 
And  presently,  clearing  his  throat,  "The  young  lady,  she 
don't  seem  t'  be  at  home,"  he  observed,  with  studied  care- 
lessness. 

"Not  till  six,"  reminded  Johnnie.     "She  works." 

It  was  then  that  One-Eye  drew  from  a  pocket 
under  those  furry  trousers  a  third,  and  a  mammoth,  apple. 
"Wai,  when  she  comes,"  he  suggested,  "y*  might  jes*  give 
her  this." 

"Oh,  gee !"  cried  Johnnie.  It  was  the  largesf  apple  he 
had  ever  seen.  "She'll  like  it.  And  she  thinks  you're 
grand !" 

This  proved  to  be  such  a  master  stroke  of  diplomacy 
as  Johnnie  had  not  imagined.  One-Eye  glowed  under  the 
compliment,  and  went  various  shades  of  red,  and  blew 
smoke  from  his  cigar  furiously.  Now  the  last  trace  of 
hardness  went  from  the  weathered  countenance,  the  droop- 
ing mustache  lifted  to  show  toothy  gaps,  and  even  the 
marble  of  that  eye  softened.  "Now,  say!"  exclaimed  the 
cowboy.  "Y'  ain't  stringin'  me,  are  y'?  She  said  that? 
Wai,  this  world  is  a  shore  funny  place!  Right  funny! 
Jes'  recent  I  paid  a  lady  here  in  town  six-bits  t'  read  the 
trails  in  my  hands.  And  she  tole  me,  'Y're  going  t'  meet 
a  high-toned  gal.'  And  now !" 

He  said  no  more  after  that,  only  smoked,  and  stared 
at  Johnnie's  sky  patch,  and  twiddled  a  spurred  boot.  The 
cigar  finished,  he  rose  and  shook  hands  solemnly,  first  with 


126          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Grandpa,  who  giggled  like  a  delighted  child;  then  with  a 
somewhat  subdued  Johnnie. 

"My!"  breathed  the  latter  as  the  clump,  clump  of  the 
spurred  boots  died  away  on  the  stairs.  He  felt  more 
regret  and  sorrow  over  being  found  lacking  by  One-Eye 
than  ever  he  had  felt  over  a  similar  discovery  made  by  Big 
Tom.  He  realized  that  he  would  do  more  to  win  just  the 
smile  of  the  one  than  he  would  to  miss  the  punishment  of 
the  other.  And  there  was  a  sting  in  his  little  interior,  as 
if  some  one  had  thrust  a  needle  into  him,  and  left  a  sore 
spot ;  or  as  if  he  had  swallowed  a  crust  or  a  codfish  bone, 
and  it  had  lodged  somewhere. 

He  gave  over  thinking  about  wearing  a  cattleman's  out- 
fit, and  began  once  more  to  turn  his  thoughts  inward  upon 
the  flat.  He  sought  out  Aladdin  from  the  precious  pile 
of  books  and  opened  it  at  the  page  he  had  been  reading 
when  One-Eye's  voice  had  fallen  for  the  first  time  upon  his 
ears.  And  at  once  he  was  again  living  with  the  Chinese 
boy  that  story  of  stories. 

The  day  sped.  Whenever  Grandpa  interrupted  him, 
Johnnie  would  go  to  look  at  Cis's  apple.  He  would  take 
it  up,  and  turn  it,  and  smell  it.  He  looked  at  it  affection- 
ately, remembering  who  had  bought  it,  had  had  it  in  his 
hands,  and  carried  it.  It  brought  that  dear  one  close. 

"Good  One-Eye !"  murmured  Johnnie,  and  first  making 
certain  that  even  Grandpa  was  not  watching,  he  laid  the 
apple  against  one  of  his  pale  cheeks.  Somehow  it  com- 
forted him.  He  pictured  Cis's  surprise  and  joy  when, 
having  been  told  to  shut  her  eyes  and  put  out  her  hands, 
she  would  see  the  crimson-skinned  gift. 

About  this  he  received  a  cruel  shock.  For  when  Cis 
came  slipping  in,  with  an  anxious  look  around,  as  if  she 
feared  Johnnie  might  not  be  there,  and  had  gone  through 
the — to  her — annoying  preliminary  of  shut  eyes  and  out- 
stretched palms,  there  was  plain  disappointment  on  her 


CHANGES  127 

face  as  she  saw  what  Johnnie  had  to  give  her.  And  when 
he  told  her  whose  gift  it  was,  far  from  changing  her  atti- 
tude, and  showing  the  pride  he  expected,  what  she  did  was 
to  burst  into  peals  of  laughter ! 

It  was  like  a  slap  in  the  face.  He  stared  at  her,  not 
able  to  comprehend  how  she  could  belittle  a  present  from 
such  a  source.  And  all  at  once  he  felt  himself  more  in 
sympathy  with  Big  Tom  than  he  did  with  her,  for  Big  Tom 
at  least  held  One-Eye  in  high  honor,  and  considered  his 
visit  to  the  flat  a  compliment. 

Now  she  added  insult  to  injury.  "What  a  funny  thing 
to  give  a  girl!"  she  cried.  Then  daintily  taking  a  whiff 
of  the  fruit,  "But  then  it'll  scent  up  my  box  fine."  She 
went  to  tuck  it  among  her  belongings. 

Not  a  word  of  gratitude !  And  she  was  crossness  itself 
when,  her  dress  changed,  she  sallied  forth  to  set  to  work 
on  the  wash.  That  this  task  had  something  to  do  with 
her  lack  of  sweet  temper  never  occurred  to  Johnnie,  whose 
opinion  of  girls  had  received  another  setback.  As  he 
watched  her  drag  forward  the  tub  and  fall  to  rubbing,  he 
half-way  made  up  his  mind  to  wait  his  chance,  take  the 
apple  out  of  that  old  box,  and  eat  it !  He  sat  at  the  win- 
'dow,  counting  the  stars  as  they  came  into  his  rectangle  of 
faded  blue,  and  was  glad  that  he  now  had  a  dog.  A  girl 
around  the  house  was  so  unsatisfactory ! 

Next  day,  with  Cis's  wash  swinging  overhead  in  a  long, 
white  line,  he  finished  Aladdin  and  took  up  Robinson  Cru- 
soe. And  with  the  new  book  there  opened  to  him  still  an- 
other life.  Swiftly  the  palaces  of  Cathay  melted  away. 
And  Johnnie,  in  company  with  several  fighting  men,  was 
pacing  the  deck  of  a  storm-tossed  ship,  with  a  savage- 
infested  shore  to  lee.  Gun  in  hand,  he  peered  across  the 
waves  to  a  spit  of  sand  upon  which  black  devils  danced. 

By  nightfall,  what  wifh  fast  reading,  and  by  skipping 
many  a  paragraph  which  was  pure  description,  the  oil- 


128         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

cloth  table  was  a  lonely  island  inhabited  by  no  human  be- 
ing, the  morris  chair  was  the  good  ship  stranded,  with  all 
on  board  lost  except  Crusoe  and  Johnnie,  who,  while  the 
seas  dashed  over  them,  roaring,  breathlessly  salvaged  for 
their  future  use  (Johnnie's  hurt  arm  was  out  of  its  sling 
all  this  time)  the  mixed  contents  of  the  kitchen  cupboard. 

Big  Tom  interrupted  this  saving  of  provender.  And 
Crusoe's  friend  was  curtly  ordered  to  wash  some  potatoes 
for  supper,  and  lay  the  plates,  and  not  leave  everything  for 
Cis  to  do.  The  order  was  accompanied  by  that  warning 
flash  of  white  in  Barber's  left  eye.  It  brought  to  an  end 
Johnnie's  period  of  convalescence. 

That  night  he  did  more  pondering  as  he  lay  on  his  mat- 
tress beside  the  cookstove,  his  eyes  looking  far  away  to  the 
three  stars  framed  by  the  window  sash,  and  the  dog  asleep 
at  his  side.  He  had  always  done  much  thinking,  being 
compelled  (to  it  by  loneliness.  Now  he  took  stock  of  him- 
self, and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  not  like  otRer 
boys. 

Being  the  only  blond-haired  boy  in  the  area  building 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  Having  to  do  housework 
had  more.  Then  he  had  none  of  the  possessions  which  the 
other  boys  of  his  own  age  treasured — bats,  and  balls, 
"scooters,"  roller  skates,  yes,  even  water  pistols. 

Being  different  from  other  boys,  he  could  not,  he  de- 
cided, do  as  they  did.  They  had  freedom :  he  was  shut  in. 
Once  he  had  thought  that  this  shut-in  condition  was  due 
to  the  strange  views  of  Big  Tom.  But  now,  all  at  once,  he 
realized  that  One-Eye  agreed  with  the  longshoreman. 
So  did  the  Chinese  tailor,  Mustapha ! 

He  made  up  his  mind  that  hereafter  he  would  stay  close 
to  home. 

He  spent  nearly  the  whole  of  the  next  day  most  con- 
tentedly with  Robinson  Crusoe.  It  was  ironing  day,  but 
when  he  had  finished  the  small  pieces,  Mrs.  Kukor  took 


CHANGES  129 

the  rest  upstairs.  Then  Johnnie,  dressed  from  head  to 
toe  in  peltry,  moored  at  his  elbow  that  lonely  isle.  And 
for  him  the  wrecked  ship  gave  up  the  last  of  its  stores, 
cannibals  danced,  beacons  were  lighted,  stockades  built, 
and  there  swept  in  upon  that  East  Side  kitchen  a  breeze 
that  was  off  the  Southern  Seas. 

Shortly  after  the  evening  meal  a  night  or  two  later, 
One-Eye  knocked,  finding  Johnnie  up  to  his  elbows  in  the 
dishpan,  while  Barber  smoked  and  Cis  dried  the  supper 
plates.  The  cowboy  seemed  much  embarrassed  just  at 
first,  and  avoided  Cis's  smiling  look  as  she  thanked  him 
for  the  apple.  Her  little  speech  over,  however,  he  soon 
warmed  into  quite  a  jovial  mood. 

"Jes'  had  t'  see  sonny,  here,  t'night,"  He  declared.  "Y* 
know  it's  so  seldom  a  feller  meets  up  with  a  kid  that's 
worth  botherin'  about.  Now  this  one  strikes  me  as  a  first- 
class  boy" — praise  that  instantly  and  completely  wiped 
out  that  hurt  somewhere  in  Johnnie's  interior. 

One-Eye  had  not  come  empty-handed.  He  had  cigars 
for  Big  Tom,  a  paper  bag  of  pears  for  every  one,  and  a 
carefully  wrapped  box  tied  with  glistening  string  which 
turned  out  to  be  candy.  As  a  chorus  of  delight  greeted 
all  these  gifts,  he  became  by  turns  the  leathery  saffron 
which,  for  him,  was  paleness,  and  the  dark  reddish-purple 
that  made  onlookers  always  believe  that  he  was  holding  his 
breath.  "Aw,  shucks !"  he  cried  to  the  thanks.  "It  ain't 
nuthin'.  Don't  mention  it.  It's  all  right.  Eat!" 

Then  happened  the  almost  unbelievable :  Big  Tom,  who 
never  made  visitors  welcome,  and  never  wasted  kerosene, 
actually  lifted  down  the  lamp  and  lighted  it,  and  would 
not  hear  of  One-Eye's  taking  an  early  departure.  The 
cowboy's  importance  was  making  him  welcome;  also,  his 
gifts.  For  greed  was  the  keynote  of  Barber's  character. 
The  latter  haw-hawed  at  everything  One-Eye  said.  And 


130          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Johnnie  gazed  in  amazement  at  the  unusual  spectacle  of 
Big  Tom's  face  wrinkled  by  laughter. 

He  talked  about  himself.  He  had  been  moving  barrels 
all  day;  doing  prodigious  things.  Furman  had  all  but 
fallen  dead  when  he  surveyed  what  that  one  pair  of  hands 
had  accomplished.  "And  he  bet  me  I  couldn't  take  up  two 
barrels  at  a  time,"  he  boasted.  Then  pushing  out  his 
cheeks,  "But  say!  It  was  duck-soup!" 

"Barrels  of  duck-soup  ?"  One-Eye  wanted  to  know.  And 
the  kitchen  resounded  with  such  unwonted  laughter  that  a 
window  or  two  went  up  outside,  to  right  or  left,  some 
neighbor  thinking  a  row  was  under  way. 

Hearing  the  noise,  Barber  stalked  to  his  own  window, 
flung  it  high,  leaned  out,  and  glared  about.  The  other 
windows  went  down  then,  and  Big  Tom  slammed  his  own 
shut,  begrudging  any  family  in  the  building  the  sound  of 
One-Eye's1-  voice.  "That  Gamboni !"  he  growled.  "Can't 
mind  his  business  t'  save  his  life!  But  you  bet  he  didn't 
open  his  mouth  when  he  seen  me  lookin' !  No,  sir !  They 
all  shut  up  their  sass  when  they  spy  yours  truly !  Ha-ha- 
a-a-a !  I  could  break  'em  in  two !" 

Johnnie  felt  a  chill  travel  down  his  spine.  He  com- 
pared One-Eye  to  his  foster  father  again.  Oh,  what 
would  have  happened  if  these  two  had  not  met  on  friendly 
terms?  had  on  his  account  come  to  blows?  How  would  it 
have  fared  with  the  cowboy  in  th*5  grasp  of  those  hands 
which  were  steel-constructed? 

"Y5  look  consider'ble  strong,"  admitted  One-Eye,  roll- 
ing the  green  marble  the  length  of  Barber  appraisingly. 
"But  I  ain't  such  a  slouch  myself.  Can  throw  my  steer 
yet,  slick  as  that !"  Which  was  going  far  for  One-Eye  in 
the  boasting  line. 

He  came  to  the  flat  often  after  that — and  never  again 
found  Johnnie  away,  though  occasionally  Big  Tom  was. 
He  always  brought  cigars  for  the  longshoreman,  and  fruit 


CHANGES  131 

or  candy,  or  both,  for  the  others.  He  never  had  a  great 
deal  to  say,  but  being  something  more  than  a  common 
man,  he  would  dry  dishes  if  there  were  dishes  to  dry,  or 
help  split  kindling  for  the  morning  fire;  and  once  he 
scrubbed  the  sink. 

If  he  said  little,  nevertheless  he  inspired  others  to  talk. 
For  some  reason  he  was  anxious  to  get  from  Johnnie  the 
story  of  the  boy's  past  life,  which  was  not  so  complete  as 
One-Eye  would  have  liked,  since  Johnnie  had  forgotten  the 
surname  of  his  Aunt  Sophie.  He  remembered  her  as  a 
tall  woman  with  big  teeth  and  too  much  chin  who  wore 
plaid-gingham  wrappers  and  pinched  his  nose  when  she 
applied  a  handkerchief  to  him. 

He  remembered  Aunt  Sophie's  living  rooms  above  the 
rich  man's  garage — rooms  warm,  clean,  and  brightly 
lighted,  with  pictures,  and  crisp  curtains,  and  a  thick, 
rose-patterned  rug  in  the  parlor.  In  her  kitchen  was  a 
great  cookstove  called  "The  Black  Diamond,"  which' 
seemed  like  some  live  thing,  for  it  had  four  claw-shaped 
feet,  and  seven  isinglass  eyes  ranged  in  a  blazing  row  upon 
a  flat  face.  Under  the  eyes  were  toothlike  bars  forming 
a  grate.  These  seemed  always  to  be  grinning  hotly.  Often 
when  the  stove  was  fed  with  the  ebony  lumps  that  Aunt 
Sophie  said  it  loved,  its  burning  breath  was  delicious. 
Then  Johnnie's  aunt,  half  doubled  above  it,  drew  out  of 
it  rich,  brown  roasts,  and  pies  that  oozed  nectar ;  or  ladled 
up  fragrant  soups  and  golden  doughnuts. 

Johnnie  described  how  grandly  he  had  lived  at  Aunt 
Sophie's.  He  had  slept  in  soft,  white  night  clothes.  Al- 
ways, when  he  waked,  Aunt  Sophie  had  pulled  him  out  of 
these  and  dropped  him  into  a  big  tub  of  warm  water,  then 
rubbed  him  pink  with  a  large,  shaggy  towel.  Sometimes 
Uncle  Albert  took  him  for  a  run  in  one  of  the  millionaire's 
huge,  glistening  cars. 

His  last  memory  of  the  garage  had  to  do  with  the  clang- 


132          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ing  ambulance  that  took  Aunt  Sophie  to  the  hospital. 
Johnnie  never  saw  her  again,  for  she  died  there ;  and  it  was 
after  her  death  that  Tom  Barber  clambered  up  the 
straight,  steep  flight  of  stairs  that  led  from  the  street 
door.  When  he  went  down  it,  Johnnie  was  with  him,  cling- 
ing to  one  of  Big  Tom's  thumbs. 

"Then  I  reckon  Mister  Barber's  a  relative,"  said  One- 
Eye. 

"Only  by  marriage,"  declared  Cis.  She  was  certain  of 
that. 

"But  why'd  he  bother  takin'  a  kid  that  is  no  relation?" 
persisted  the  Westerner. 

Cis  smiled  wisely.     "Work,"  she  answered  laconically. 

One-Eye  understood.  "And  who  was  the  rich  gent  ?"  he 
asked. 

Johnnie  could  not  remember  the  name.  "But  once,"  he 
told  proudly,  "he  left  a'  orange  for  me,  and  I  used  it  like 
a  ball  till  the  skin  busted." 

"Y'  know  what  street  that  was  on,  don't  y'?"  inquired 
the  cowboy. 

Yes,  Johnnie  knew  that.  The  street  was  West  Fifty- 
fifth. 

"And  what  about  your  mother?"  One-Eye  wanted  to 
know. 

"Well,  I  had  one — once,"  declared  Johnnie.  "I'm  sure 
of  that.  And  she's  dead."  Also  at  one  time  he  had  pos- 
sessed a  father,  who  was  dead,  too.  "My  father  and  my 
mother,"  he  informed  the  cowboy,  "died  the  same  day." 

That  single  eye  opened  wide  at  this  news.  "The  same 
day?"  One-Eye  demanded. 

"Drownded,"  said  Johnnie.  Though  how  and  where  he 
could  not  tell,  and  did  not  even  know  his  father's  name, 
which  Cis  felt  sure  was  not  Smith. 

"I  thought  as  much!"  remarked  their  visitor,  wisely. 
"And  what  about  your  Paw  and  Maw?"  he  inquired  of  Cis, 


CHANGES  133 

who  knew  names  and  dates  and  facts  about  her  parents, 
but  was  completely  in  the  dark  as  to  the  whereabouts  of 
any  living  kinspeople.  She  had  lived  in  a  flat  in  the  next 
block  till  her  father  died.  When  her  mother  married  Tom 
Barber,  she  had  moved  out  of  her  birthplace  and  into  the 
area  building.  And  that  was  all  there  was  to  tell,  except 
that  her  own  full  name  was  Narcissa  Amy  Way. 

"Cute!"  declared  One-Eye,  going  a  beet-red. 

"Have  you  got  a  mother?"  asked  Cis. 

"Both  dead,"  answered  One-Eye,  knowing  that  the  two 
would  understand  what  he  meant. 

"Three  orphans,"  returned  Cis.  The  blue  eyes  misted, 
and  the  pointed,  pink  chin  quivered.  And  the  others  knew 
what  she  meant. 

Indeed,  at  the  sight  of  her  brimming  eyes  One-Eye  felt 
so  keenly  that,  without  warning,  he  put  his  head  back  in 
a  most  surprising  fashion,  opened  his  mouth,  shut  that  one 
eye,  and  broke  into  a  strange  plaint.  The  others  con- 
cluded that  One-Eye  was  making  a  curious,  hoarse  noise 
ceilingward  for  some  reason.  Presently,  however,  Cis 
made  out  that  the  noise  was  a  tune :  a  tune  weird  but  soul- 
stirring.  Music,  as  Cis  could  see,  was  One-Eye's  medium 
of  expressing  his  emotions.  And  then  and  there  it  became 
her  firm  conviction  that  he  was  bearing  a  great  and  secret 
sorrow. 

It  was  Johnnie  who  first  learned  the  words  of  the  tune. 
And  when  he  could  repeat  them  to  Cis,  both  realized  how 
appropriate  they  had  been  under  the  circumstances,  for 
they  ran : 

"Oh,  blame  me  not  for  weepin', 
Oh,  blame  me  not,  I  say! 
For  I  have  a'  angel  mother, 
Ten  thousand  miles  away !" 

Having  got  to  the  end  of  a  verse,  One-Eye  sat  up,  smiled 


134          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

feebly,  darted  a  bashful  glance  at  Cis,  and  went  on  witK 
his  questions.  "What  was  Uncle  Albert's  name?"  he 
wanted  to  know. 

But  as  Johnnie  could  not  remember  Aunt  Sophie's  name, 
naturally  enough  he  could  not  remember  his  Uncle  Al- 
bert's, both  names  being  one  and  the  same.  His  Uncle  was 
a  figure  that  this  small  nephew  had  greatly  admired — 
straight,  be-capped  like  a  soldier,  and  soldierly,  too,  in 
his  smart,  dark  livery. 

"They's  somethin'  mysterious  about  the  hull  proposi- 
tion !"  pronounced  One-Eye. 

That  night  when  One-Eye  was  about  to  leave,  he  asked 
Cis  what  he  might  buy  her  for  Christmas.  Cis  was  shy 
about  answering,  and  declared  that  he  need  not  buy  her 
anything :  he  had  bought  her  so  much  candy,  and  that  was 
enough — more  than  enough.  But  One-Eye  pressed  the 
question.  "Aw,  name  somethin'!"  he  pleaded.  "Can't  y* 
think  of  a  pritty  that  y'd  like  awful  ?" 

Cis  thought.  And  having  taken  some  time  to  turn  the 
suggestion  over,  while  One-Eye  watched  her,  and  Johnnie 
mentally  made  up  a  long  list  of  possible  gifts,  "I'd  like 
very  much,"  she  faltered,  "if  I  could  have  a  nice  doll." 

What  was  there  about  the  request  that  seemed  to  stag- 
ger One-Eye?  Looking  at  him,  Johnnie  saw  that  big 
Adam's-apple  move  convulsively,  while  the  green  eye  swam, 
and  the  lantern  jaw  fell.  "A — a  doll?"  the  cowboy  re- 
peated feebly. 

Cis  knew  that  somehow  she  had  said  the  wrong  thing, 
and  hastened  to  ease  the  situation.  "Oh,  just  a  teeny, 
weeny  one,"  she  compromised.  "You  see,  Mr.  One-Eye, 
I've  never  had  but  one,  and  I  thought  before  I  got  too  big 
— because  I've  seen  small  dolls  that  were  so  sweet! — and 
I_and  I " 

But  there  she  stopped,  blushing  painfully.  To  cover 
her  embarrassment,  she  dashed  into  her  closet  room  and 


CHANGES  135 

brought  out  Letitia,  ragged  dress  and  all,  as  if  the  sight 
of  the  poor  beloved  would  speak  for  her  more  eloquently 
than  she  could  for  herself. 

Which  proved  to  be  the  case.  For  One-Eye  stared  at 
Letitia  till  that  single  eye  fairly  bored  through  her  saw- 
dust frame.  Next  he  took  her  up  and  turned  her  about, 
liis  lips  shut  tight.  His  mustache  stood  up,  he  gulped, 
and  his  hand  trembled. 

Then  suddenly  he  rose.    "Got  t*  go,"  he  announced. 

He  went.  He  forgot  to  shake  hands.  He  pulled  the 
big  hat  far  down  across  his  forehead.  He  stubbed  his  toe 
on  the  doorsill. 

Cis  and  Johnnie  hung  out  of  the  window  a  long  time 
after,  talking  low  together,  so  as  not  to  be  overheard  by 
the  Gambonis,  for  the  early  December  night  was  surpris- 
ingly warm,  and  the  building  had  all  its  windows  up.  They 
speculated  upon  One-Eye's  conduct.  Johnnie  was  dis- 
tressed— and  on  two  scores :  first,  that  One-Eye  should 
have  gone  so  abruptly;  second,  that  Cis,  when  given  a 
chance  to  ask  for  something,  had  not  named  a  gift  worth 
having,  such  as  another  book. 

"But  you've  got  more  books  now  than  you've  had  time 
to  read !"  she  protested.  "And  anyhow  One-Eye  is  sure  to 
give  you  a  Christmas  present."  She  was  not  cast  down, 
but  smiled  at  the  sky,  and  talked  of  the  new  doll,  which  she 
intended  to  name — Edwarda. 

"Should  think  you'd  name  her  after  One-Eye,"  went  on 
Johnnie ;  "long's  he's  givin'  her  to  you." 

"How  could  I  name  her  after  him?"  she  retorted. 
"What  would  I  call  her? — Two-Eyes?  I'm  not  going  to 
spoil  her  by  giving  her  a  crazy  name."  Eager  to  have  her 
dreams  to  herself,  she  forsook  the  window  for  her  own 
room,  and  shut  the  door. 

The  next  morning,  while  Johnnie  and  Grandpa  were  re- 
turning from  the  field  of  Gettysburg,  here,  ascending  from 


136          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

the  area  came  the  shrill  voice  of  the  Italian  janitressr 
"Johnnie  Smith!     Johnnie  Smith!" 

That  meant  the  postman.  And  the  postman  was  an 
event,  for  he  came  not  oftener  than  once  in  three  months, 
this  to  fetch  a  long,  official  envelope  that  had  to  do  with 
Grandpa's  pension.  But  the  pension  was  not  clue  again 
for  several  weeks.  So  what  did  the  postman  have  to 
leave  ? 

Bursting  with  curiosity,  excitement  and  importance, 
Johnnie  very  nearly  broke  his  neck  between  his  own  door 
and  the  brick  pave.  And  here  was  a  letter  addressed 
to  himself:  Johnnie  Smith,  in  Mr.  Thos.  Barber's  flat. 
Then  the  street  and  the  number,  the  whole  having  been 
written  on  a  typewriter. 

"Why — !  Why — !  Who  can  it  be  from?"  Johnnie 
muttered,  turning  the  letter  over  and  over,  while  heads 
popped  out  of  windows,  and  sundry  small  fry  gathered 
about  Johnnie  and  the  postman. 

"Maybe  you'd  find  out  if  you  opened  it,"  suggested  the 
latter,  who  was  curious  himself. 

Johnnie  opened;  and  drew  forth  a  single  large  page, 
white  and  neat,  when  it  was  unfolded.  Upon  it  was  writ- 
ten a  short,  polite  note  which  read : 

"Dear  Johnnie,  I'm  going  away  for  a  -few  days.  Cannot 
tell  just  when  I  shall  be  back.  Take  care  of  yourself. 
Yours  very  respectfully, — "  Here  One-Eye  had  signed  his 
name. 

The  signature  was  hard  to  make  out.  Not  only  because 
it  was  badly  written  but  because  there  was  something  the 
matter  with  Johnnie's  eyes.  "One-Eye's  goin'  away,"  he 
told  the  postman,  not  ashamed  of  the  tears  he  wiped  on 
the  back  of  a  hand.  "Oh,  my  goodness !"  He  climbed  the 
stairs  with  his  square  little  chin  on  his  breast. 

Cis  made  him  feel  worse  when  she  came  home.  Because 
instead  of  being  equally  cast  down,  she  was  full  of  criti- 


CHANGES  137 

cism.  "My!  One-Eye  never  wrote  that!"  she  declared. 
"A  stenographer  fixed  that  all  up  for  him.  Sure  as  you 
live." 

This  was  too  much.  Johnnie  jerked  the  letter  out  of 
her  hand.  He  caught  up  Letitia  by  one  dwindling  arm  and 
cast  her  headforemost  into  Cis's  room.  And  there  is  no 
telling  what  else  might  not  have  happened  if,  at  that  mo- 
ment, the  janitress  had  not  begun  to  call  again,  thougH 
this  time  it  was  Cis  she  wanted.  And  what  she  had  for  Cis 
was  a  heavy  pasteboard  box  that  was  nearly  as  long  as 
the  table.  In  the  box,  wearing  a  truly  gorgeous  dress  and 
hat  and  shoes,  was — Edwarda. 

"A  Princess  of  a  doll !"  cried  Cis,  dancing  with  happi- 
ness. 

Later  on,  when  she  had  put  Edwarda  to  bed  for  at  least: 
the  tenth  time,  she  came  to  comfort  Johnnie^  "Never 
mind,"  she  said,  "he'll  be  back.  And  while  he's  gone,  you 
can  play  he's  here."  Then  with  a  far-away  look  in  her 
blue  eyes,  "What  would  7  do  if  I  didn't  pretend  HE  was 
here!" 

Johnnie  groaned.  The  idea  of  her  bringing  up  the 
Prince  in  the  face  of  such  grief  as  his !  It  made  him  sick. 
He  pinned  the  letter  inside  his  shirt.  He  dragged  out  the 
mattress  and  flung  himself  down.  He  would  not  let  her 
light  the  lamp.  He  yearned  for  the  dark,  where  he  could 
hide  his  tears. 

Oh,  everything  was  swept  away !    Everything ! 

And  even  the  dog,  crowding  close  against  him  comfort- 
ingly, could  not  lessen  his  pain. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  HEAVEN  THAT  NEARLY  HAPPENED 

JANUARY  came  in  furiously,  peppering1  with  sleet, 
bombarding    with    hail,    storming    with    snow-laden 
winds.     Day  after  day  the  sun  refused  to  show  him- 
self, and  the  kitchen  was  so  dark  that,  whenever  work  had 
to  be  done,  the  lamp  was  lighted. 

In  such  weather  Johnnie  was  cut  off  from  the  outside 
world;  was  almost  like  another  Crusoe.  Having  no  shoes 
and  no  qvercoat,  he  would  not  venture  out  for  a  walk 
with  his  dog.  Fuel  was  so  costly  that  he  could  not  even 
open  the  window  to  take  his  taste  of  the  outdoors.  His 
feet  were  wrapped  up  in  bits  of  blanket,  and  his  thin  arms 
were  covered  by  footless,  old  stockings  of  Cis's,  which  he 
drew  on  of  a  morning,  keeping  them  up  by  pinning  them 
to  the  stubby  sleeves  of  the  big  shirt. 

Many  a  day  Big  Tom  stayed  at  home,  dozing  away  the 
time  on  his  bed.  Such  days  were  trying  ones  for  John- 
nie. Seated  at  the  kitchen  table,  his  large  hands  blue  with 
the  cold,  hour  upon  hour  he  twisted  cotton  petals  on  wire 
stems  to  make  violets — virtually  acres  of  them,  which  he 
fashioned  in  skillful  imitation,  though  he  had  never  seen  a 
violet  grow.  Violet-making  tired  him,  and  often  he  had  a 
stabbing  pain  between  his  shoulder  blades. 

But  when  Barber  was  away,  the  gloomiest  hours  passed 
happily  enough.  He  would  finish  his  housework  early,  if 
none  too  well,  scatter  the  oilcloth  with  petals  and  stems, 
as  if  this  task  were  going  forward,  then  pull  the  table 

138 


THE  HEAVEN  THAT  NEARLY  HAPPENED  139 

clrawer  part  way  out,  lay  his  open  book  in  it,  and  read.  It 
was  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans  which  claimed  all  of  his  in- 
terest during  the  first  month  of  that  year.  And  what  the 
weather  was  outside  mattered  not  a  jot  to  him.  He  was 
threading  the  woods  of  spring  with  Cora  and  Alice,  Uncas 
and  Heyward. 

It  was  later  on,  during  February,  when  The  Legends  of 
King  Arthur  were  uppermost  in  Johnnie's  mind,  that  the 
flat  had  a  mysterious  caller,  this  a  bald-headed,  stocky 
man  wearing  a  hard  black  hat,  a  gray  woolly  storm  coat, 
and  overshoes.  "You  Johnnie  Smith?"  he  asked  when  the 
door  was  opened  to  his  knock. 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  man  came  in,  sat  without  waiting  to  be  asked,  and 
looked  around  him  with  a  severe  eye.  Johnnie  was  de- 
lighted at  this  unusual  interruption.  But  Grandpa  was 
scared,  and  got  behind  Johnnie.  "Is  that  the  <5eneral?" 
he  wanted  to  know,  whispering.  "Is  that  the  General?" 

"Is  your  father  home?"  asked  the  strange  man  finally. 

"My  father's  dead,"  replied  Johnnie. 

"Ah.    Then  Mr.  Barber's  your  uncle,  eh  ?" 

"He  ain't  no  relation,"  declared  Johnnie,  proudly. 

The  clock  alarm  announced  the  hour  of  five.  Johnnie 
fed  the  fire  and  put  the  supper  over.  Still  the  man  stayed. 
Once  he  got  up  and  walked  about,  stared  into  the  black-* 
ness  of  Big  Tom's  bedroom,  and  held  the  lamp  so  that  he 
might  have  a  look  at  Cis's  closet.  He  grumbled  to  him- 
self when  he  put  the  lamp  down. 

All  this  made  Johnnie  uneasy.  He  could  think  of  only 
one  reason  for  such  strange  and  suspicious  conduct.  The 
books!  Could  this  by  any  chance  be  Mr.  J.  J.  Hunter? 

When  Barber  came  in,  it  was  plain  to  Johnnie  that  the 
longshoreman  knew  instantly  why  the  man  had  come.  At 
least  he  showed  no  surprise  at  seeing  him  there.  Also,  he 
was  indifferent — even  amused.  After  nodding  to  the  visi- 


140          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

tor,  and  flashing  at  him  that  dangerous  white  spot,  he  sat 
and  pushed  at  first  one  cheek  and  then  the  other  with  his 
tongue. 

"My  name's  Maloney,"  began  the  man,  using  a  severe 
tone.  "I'm  here  about  this  boy." 

Johnnie  started.  The  man's  visit  concerned  himself! 
He  felt  sure  now  that  it  was  about  the  book.  He  won- 
idered  if  there  would  be  a  search. 

Barber  thrust  out  his  lip.  "You're  a  long  time  gittin' 
here,"  he  returned  impudently.  And  laughed. 

At  that  the  man  seemed  less  sure  of  himself.  "Don't 
know  how  I've  missed  him,"  he  declared,  as  if  troubled. 

"Seein*  he's  been  right  here  in  this  flat  for  five  years," 
said  the  other,  sneeringly. 

Maloney  rose,  and  Johnnie  saw  that  he  was  angry. 
"You  know  the  law !"  he  asserted.  "This  boy  ought  to  be 
in  school:" 

School !  Johnnie  caught  his  breath.  Mr.  Maloney  was 
here  to  help  him!  Had  not  Cis  declared  over  and  over 
that  some  day  Big  Tom  would  be  arrested  for  keeping 
Johnnie  home  from  public  school?  Mrs.  Kukor  had 
agreed.  And  now  this  was  going  to  happen!  And,  oh, 
school  would  be  Heaven! 

"Sure,"  assented  Big  Tom,  smoothly.    "But  who's  goin' 
t  'send  him  ?    'Cause  I  don't  have  t'  do  anything  for  him." 
"You'll  have  to  appear  before  a  magistrate,"  declared 
the  other.     "For  I'm  going  to  enter  a  complaint." 

Barber  began  to  swell.  With  a  curse,  he  rose  and  faced 
Maloney.  "Look  here!"  he  said  roughly.  "This  kid  is 
nothin'  t'  me.  I  fetched  him  here  when  his  aunt  died.  I 
didn't  have  t'.  But  if  I  hadn't,  he'd  've  starved,  and  slept 
in  the  streets,  or  been  a  cost  t'  the  city.  Well,  he's  been 
a  cost  t'  me — git  that,  Mister  Maloney?  T»  me!  A  poor 
man !  I've  fed  him,  and  give  him  a  place  t'  sleep — instead 


THE  HEAVEN  THAT  NEARLY  HAPPENED  141 

of  takin*  in  roomers,  like  the  rest  of  the  guys  do  in  this 
buildin'." 

Again  the  man  looked  about  him.  "Roomers?"  he  re- 
peated. "Why,  there's  no  ventilation  here,  and  you  get 
no  sun.  This  flat  is  unfit  to  live  in !" 

"You  tell  that  t'  the  landlord !"  cried  Big  Tom,  his  chest 
heaving.  "He  makes  me  pay  good  rent  for  it,  even  if  it 
ain't  fit  t'  live  in !" 

Maloney  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  all  about  your  city  rules,"  went  on 
the  longshoreman.  "But  the  Dagoes  in  this  tenement  pack 
their  flats  full.  I  don't.  Jus'  the  boy  sleeps  in  this 
kitchen.  And  if  it  wasn't  for  me,  where'd  he  be  right  now? 
Out  in  the  snow?" 

Maloney  shrugged,  sat  down,  and  leaned  back,  thinking. 
And  in  the  pause  Johnnie  thought  of  several  matters.  For 
one  thing,  now  he  had  a  new  way  of  considering  his  being 
in  the  flat.  Sure  enough,  if  Barber  had  not  fed  and  housed 
him  where  would  he  have  been  ?  With  Uncle  Albert  ?  But 
Uncle  Albert  had  never  come  down  to  see  him ;  had  not — 
as  Big  Tom  had  often  taken  the  pains  to  point  out — even 
written  Johnnie  a  postcard.  Now  the  boy  suddenly  found 
himself  grateful  to  Barber. 

Mr.  Maloney's  manner  had  lost  much  of  its  assurance. 
"But  the  boy  must  be  taught  something,"  he  declared. 
"He's  ignorant!" 

Ignorant!  Johnnie  rose,  scarcely  able  to  keep  back  a 
protest. 

Barber  whirled  round  upon  him.  "Ignorant !"  he  cried. 
"Y'  hear  that,  Johnnie  ?  This  gent  thinks  you  don't  know 
nothin'! — That's  where  you're  off,  Maloney! — Johnnie, 
suppose  you  read  for  him.  Ha?  Just  show  him  how 
ignorant  y*  are !" 

Johnnie  made  an  involuntary  start  toward  the  drawer 


142          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

of  the  table,  remembered,  and  stopped.  "What — what'll 
I  read  ?"  he  asked. 

The  man  looked  around.  "Exactly!"  he  exclaimed. 
"What'll  he  read?  What  have  you  got  in  this  flat  for 
him  to  read?  Where's  your  books?  or  papers?  or  maga- 
zines? You  haven't  a  scrap  of  printed  matter,  as  far  as 
I  can  see." 

"Give  us  that  paper  out  of  your  overcoat,"  suggested 
Big  Tom,  ignoring  what  the  other  had  said.  "Let  the  kid 
read  from  it." 

As  Johnnie  took  the  paper,  he  was  almost  as  put  out  at 
the  man  as  was  Barber.  "I've  read  ever  since  I  was  a 
baby,"  he  declared.  "Aunt  Sophie,  she  used  to  give  me 
lessons."  Then  he  read,  easily,  smoothly,  pausing  at  com- 
mas, stopping  at  periods,  pronouncing  even  the  biggest 
words  correctly. 

"All  fight,"  interrupted  Maloney,  after  a  few  para- 
graphs. "That'll  do.  You  read  first  rate — first  rate." 

"And  I  know  dec'mals,"  boasted  Johnnie;  "and  frac- 
tions. And  I  can  spell  ev'ry  word  that  was  in  Cis's  spellin' 
book."  Yes,  and  he  knew  much  more  that  he  dared  not 
confess  in  the  hearing  of  Barber.  He  longed  to  discourse 
about  his  five  books,  and  all  the  wonderful  people  in  them, 
and  to  say  something  about  the  "thinks"  he  could  do. 

"There  y'  are!"  exclaimed  the  longshoreman,  triumph- 
ant. "There  y '  are !  D'  y'  call  that  ignorant  ?  for  a  ten- 
year-old  boy?" 

Maloney  looked  across  at  Johnnie  and  smiled.  "He's  a 
mighty  smart  lad!"  he  admitted  warmly. 

"Knows  twice  as  much  as  most  boys  of  his  age,"  went 
on  Barber.  (He  had  come  to  this  conclusion,  however,  in 
the  past  five  minutes.)  "And  all  he  knows  is  good.  He 
behaves  himself  pretty  fair,  too,  and  I  don't  have  much 
trouble  with  him  t'  speak  of.  So  he's  welcome  t'  stay  on 
far's  Tie's  concerned.  But" — his  voice  hardened,  his  nose 


darted  sidewise  menacingly — "if  you  stick  your  finger  in 
this  pie,  and  drag  me  up  in  front  of  a  Court,  I'm  goin'  t' 
tell  y'  what'll  come  of  it,  and  I  mean  just  what  I  say:  I'll 
set  the  kid  outside  that  door," — indicating  the  one  leading 
to  the  hall,  "and  the  city  can  board  and  bed  him.  Jus' 
put  that  in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it !" 

Evidently  Mr.  Maloney  did  not  smoke,  for  though  John- 
nie watched  the  visitor  closely,  the  latter  drew  out  no  pipe. 
"Wouldn't  know  where  I  could  send  him,"  he  confessed, 
but  as  if  to  himself  rather  than  to  Big  Tom;  "not  just 
now,  anyhow.  But" — suddenly  brightening — "what  about 
night  school?" 

"Have  him  chasin*  out  o'  nights?"  cried  Barber,  scan- 
dalized. "Comin'  in  all  hours  off  the  street?  I  guess  not! 
So  if  you  and  your  Court  want  this  kid  t'  go  t'  night 
school,  out  he  gits  from  here.  And  that's  my  last  word." 
He  sat  down. 

Mr.  Maloney  got  up,  a  worried  expression  on  his  face. 
"I'll  have  to  let  the  matter  stand  as  it  is  for  a  while,"  he 
admitted  quietly.  "This  year  the  city's  got  more  public 
charges  than  it  knows  what  to  do  with — so  many  men  out 
of  work,  and  so  much  sickness  these  last  months.  And  as 
you  say,  the  boy  isn't  ignorant." 

When  he  went,  he  left  the  paper  behind;  and  that  eve- 
ning Johnnie  read  it  from  the  first  page  to  the  last,  adver- 
tisements and  all.  Big  Tom  saw  him  poring  over  it,  but 
said  nothing  (the  boy's  reading  on  the  sly  had  proved  a 
good  thing  for  the  longshoreman).  Johnnie,  realizing  that 
he  was  seen,  but  that  his  foster  father  did  not  roar  an 
objection,  or  jerk  the  paper  from  his  hands,  or  blow  out 
the  light,  was  grateful,  and  felt  suddenly  less  independent. 

But  what  he  did  not  realize  was  that,  by  reading  as  well 
as  he  had,  he  had  hurt  his  own  chances  of  being  sent  to 
public  school. 


CHAPTER  XV 

SCOUTS 

WHEN,  toward  the  latter  part  of  March,  the  days 
were  so  warm  that  Johnnie  was  able  once  more 
to  take  short,  daily  walks,  he  never  went  without 
bringing  home  a  box  to  split  up  for  kindling.    The  box  was 
an  excuse.    And  he  wanted  the  excuse,  not  to  ease  his  con- 
science about  leaving  Grandpa  alone,  but  to  save  himself 
should  Big  Tom  happen  home  and  find  him  gone. 

So  far  as  Grandpa  was  concerned,  the  feeble  veteran 
scarcely  seemed  to  know  any  more  whether  he  was  alone 
or  not,  there  being  small  difference  between  the  flat  without 
Johnnie  and  the  flat  with  Johnnie  if  Johnnie  had  a  book. 
But  also  Grandpa  always  had  some  one  else  with  him  now 
— some  one  who  comforted  his  old  heart  greatly.  This 
was  Letitia. 

Grandpa  had  always  shown  much  fondness  for  the  old 
idoll.  And  one  day — soon  after  Cis  received  the  new  one — 
when  Johnnie  chanced  to  give  Letitia  into  the  hands  of  the 
old  man,  the  latter  was  so  happy  that  Johnnie  had  not 
taken  Letitia  away,  and  Cis  had  not.  Instead,  she  gave 
the  old  doll  to  Grandpa.  And  so  it  came  about  that  Le- 
titia shared  the  wheel  chair,  where  she  lay  in  the  crook  of 
Grandpa's  left  arm  like  a  limp  infant  (she  was  shedding 
sawdust  at  a  dreadful  rate,  what  with  the  neglect  she  was 
suffering  of  late),  while  her  poor  eyes  fixed  themselves  on 
distance. 

"She  don't  look  like  she's  happy,"  Johnnie  had  declared 

144 


SCOUTS  145 

to  Cis  more  than  once.  "She  looks  like  she's  just  standin' 
it." 

"Why,  Johnnie!"  Cis  had  reproved,  "And  here  you've 
always  said  that  /  was  silly  about  her !" 

"Who's  silly?"  Johnnie  had  demanded,  defensive,  and 
blushing  furiously. 

"Grandpa's  tickled  to  have  her,"  Cis  had  continued. 

There  the  matter  was  dropped.  Nevertheless,  Johnnie 
had  then  formed  a  certain  firm  conviction,  which  he  con- 
tinued to  hold.  It  was  that  Cis  was  lacking  in  loyalty  to 
the  old  doll  (forgetting  that  only  recently  he  had  hurled 
Letitia  headfirst  into  the  tiny  room). 

By  the  end  of  March  Johnnie  had  begun  to  fret  about 
One-Eye.  He  missed  the  cowboy  sadly ;  and  what  made 
the  latter's  absence  seem  all  the  harder  to  bear  was  the 
belief  that  his  friend  was  back  in  New  York  again,  yet  was 
not  visiting  the  flat  because  he  was,  for  some  reason,  dis- 
pleased. With  Cis? — about  that  new  doll — or  what? 

"He's  mad  about  somethin'," — Johnnie  vowed  it  over 
and  over.  "He  said  he'd  be  gone  a  few  days.  But  that 
was  months  ago." 

Cis  denied  that  she  had  anything  to  do  with  One-Eye's 
staying  away.  She  missed  him,  too ;  or,  rather,  she  felt 
the  loss  of  those  almost  nightly  gifts  of  fruit  and  sweets. 
As  for  Barber,  he  had  no  more  good  cigars  to  smoke  be- 
fore his  fellow  longshoremen.  And  his  lunch  pail  lacked 
oranges  and  bananas  at  noontime,  and  had  to  be  filled  with 
prunes.  Altogether,  the  cowboy's  failure  to  return  worked 
a  general  hardship. 

"Oh,  why  don't  he  write  me  again?"  mourned  Johnnie. 
These  days  he  secretly  enjoyed  any  glimpse  of  Edwarda, 
and  would  even  steal  into  Cis's  room  sometimes  to  peep  at 
her.  She  made  him  feel  sure  that  One-Eye  had  really  once 
been  there  with  them — as  did  also  the  letter  and  the  blue 
handkerchief. 


146          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Johnnie  lightened  his  heart  with  all  this  testimony.  For 
it  was  often  difficult  for  him  to  feel  any  more  certain  about 
the  cowboy  than  he  did  about  his  four  millionaires,  or  Sir 
Galahad,  say,  or  Uncas,  or  Goliath,  or  Crusoe.  He  could 
revel  gloriously  in  make-believe,  yes ;  but  perhaps  for  this 
very  reason  he  found  himself  terribly  prone  to  doubt  facts ! 
And  as  each  day  went  by,  he  came  to  wonder  more  and 
more  about  the  reality  of  One-Eye,  though  the  passing 
time  as  steadily  added  romantic  touches  to  the  figure  of 
the  Westerner. 

Often  at  night  Johnnie  held  long  conversations  with  him, 
confessing  how  much  he  missed  him,  thanking  him  for  past 
favors,  begging  him  to  return.  "Oh,  One-Eye,  are  y'  mad 
at  me?"  he  would  implore.  And  if  there  were  stars  framed 
by  the  window,  they  would  dance  as  the  gray  eyes  swam. 

Whenever  he  roved  hither  and  thither,  hunting  for 
boxes,  ift  was  really  hunting  his  friend.  He  kept  close 
watch  of  the  men  who  passed  him,  always  hoping  earnestly 
that  one  day  he  might  catch  sight  of  One-Eye. 

He  brought  home  only  one  box  at  a  time.  At  first  if 
some  grocer  gave  him  a  large  one,  so  that  he  had  more 
wood  than  was  needed  to  start  the  morning  fire,  he  burned 
his  surplus,  so  that  he  would  have  to  go  out  again  the 
following  day.  Later  on  he  gave  the  extra  sticks  to  Mrs. 
Kukor,  tying  them  into  a  Robinson  Crusoe  bundle,  like 
fagots,  and  sending  them  up  to  the  little  Jewish  lady  via 
the  kitchen  window  when  she  let  down  a  string.  The  two 
had  a  special  signal  for  all  this ;  they  called  it  the  "wood 
sign." 

One  morning  as  Johnnie  was  strolling  along  New  Bow- 
ery, alert  as  ever  for  the  sight  of  a  pair  of  fur-faced 
breeches,  his  heart  suddenly  came  at  a  jump  into  his 
throat,  and  his  head  swam.  For  just  ahead  of  him,  going 
in  the  same  direction,  was  a  tall  man  wearing  a  One-Eye 
hat! 


SCOUTS  147 

Without  a  doubt  in  his  mind  that  here  was  some  one 
who  knew  his  dear  friend,  Johnnie  let  fall  a  small  box  he 
was  carrying  under  one  arm  and  rushed  forward,  planting 
himself,  breathless,  in  the  man's  way.  "Oh,  Mister!"  he 
cried.  "Oh,  where's  One-Eye?  Would  y'  tell  him  for  me 
that  I  want  t'  see  him? — awful  bad!  I'm  Johnnie — John- 
nie Smith!" 

The  man  had  long  hair  that  covered  his  collar  like 
Grandpa's.  Also  he  plainly  had  a  temper  much  like  Big 
Tom's.  For  after  staring  down  at  the  boy  for  a  moment, 
he  kicked  out  at  him.  "On  your  way !"  he  ordered  angrily. 
"Ske-daddle!— you  little  rat!" 

Johnnie  obeyed.  He  was  stunned — that  any  man  hav- 
ing on  a  One-Eye  hat  could  act  so  bad.  His  pride  was 
hurt,  too,  at  being  kicked  at  in  public,  and  called  a  rat — 
he,  the  intimate  of  the  famous  Westerner.  And  J^is  sense 
of  justice  was  outraged;  he  had  done  nothing  to  deserve 
attack  and  insult. 

This  was  not  a  matter  for  one  of  those  "think"  re- 
venges. He  might  never  see  the  man  again,  and  whatever 
he  did  must  be  as  plain  to  all  passersby  as  had  been  the 
other's  performance.  So  when  Johnnie  was  well  out  of 
reach  of  the  long-haired  man,  he  halted  to  call  back  at 
him.  "You  ain't  no  real  cowboy!"  he  declared.  "Girl's 
hair!  Girl's  hair!" 

But  a  pleasant  experience  came  treading  on  the  very 
heels  of  the  unpleasant.  This  was  under  the  Elevated 
Railroad  in  Second  Avenue.  At  the  moment,  Johnnie 
chanced  to  be  a  great,  champing  war  horse,  grandly  draw- 
ing, by  a  harness  made  all  of  the  finest  silk,  a  casket  (that 
small  box)  filled  with  coins  and  bars  of  gold  from  Treasure 
Island.  Being  a  war  horse  of  Camelot,  and,  therefore,  un- 
used to  New  York  and  train  tracks  on  stilts,  he  was  pranc- 
ing and  rearing  under  his  gay  trappings  in  wild  style 
when 


148          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Up  the  stone-paved  avenue  they  came,  two  and  two, 
two  and  two,  two  and  two,  and  behind  those  twos  still  oth- 
ers, all  boys  of  Johnnie's  own  age,  all  dressed  just  alike, 
wearing  clean  khaki  uniforms,  new  flat-brimmed  hats  of 
olive-drab,  leggings,  and  polished  brown  shoes.  What  they 
were  he  did  not  know,  though  he  guessed  them  to  be  rich, 
noting  how  proud  was  their  carriage — chins  up,  backs 
straight.  Beside  them  walked  their  leader,  a  grown  young 
man,  slender,  and  with  a  tanned  face  plentifully  touched 
with  red. 

The  war  horse  shrank  into  his  rags.  He  would  have 
darted  out  of  sight  so  as  not  to  be  seen;  would  have  hid 
behind  a  pillar  of  the  Elevated,  dreading  looks  of  scorn, 
and  laughter,  and  cat  calls,  but  the  sight  of  that  march- 
ing column  thrilled  and  held  him.  Once  before  he  had  seen 
a  number  of  boys  whom  he  had  envied.  They  had  had  on 
sweaters  and  caps,  the  caps  being  lettered.  They  had 
carried  baseball  masks,  and  bats.  But  were  such — a  noisy, 
clamorous  crew — worthy  to  be  compared  with  these  young 
gods? 

Tramp!  tramp!  tramp!  tramp! — they  passed  him, 
their  look  high.  But  the  eyes  of  all  were  kind  and  friendly 
as  they  caught  sight  of  Johnnie.  Yet — could  they  know 
who  he  was?  of  his  friendship  with  the  great  cowboy? 
Hardly.  And  still  the  column  did  not  mock  at  him.  There 
was  not  a  taunt,  not  a  hoot ! 

When  they  were  gone,  he  stood  staring  after  them,  so 
entranced  that  he  was  in  danger  of  being  run  down  by  a 
surface  car,  or  an  automobile.  Presently,  however,  on  be- 
ing ordered  off  the  rails  by  an  irate  truck  driver,  he  made 
on  homeward  slowly,  his  yellow  head  lowered  thoughtfully, 
the  box  scraping  along  behind  him  at  the  end  of  a  piece 
of  rope. 

"Guess  they're  some  kind  of  soldiers,"  he  told  himself, 


SCOUTS  149 

and  reflected  that  they  were  small  to  have  been  sent  to 
war. 

A  hand  touched  his  shoulder,  stopping  him.  He  glanced 
up.  And  could  scarcely  believe  his  eyes.  For  here,  as 
surprising  as  lightning  out  of  a  sunny  sky,  was  that 
leader,  that  grown  young  man.  "Say,  boy !"  he  panted, 
breathing  hard  from  a  run.  "I  saw  you  just  now  as  we 
went  by.  Would  you  like  to  be  a  scout  ?" 

"A — a  scout?"  faltered  Johnnie,  and  clid  not  know 
whether  or  not  he  could  trust  his  ears;  because  only  re- 
cently he  had  come  to  know  all  about  scouts,  regarded 
them  as  far  beyond  even  the  most  distinguished  among  men 
(always  barring  cowboys),  and  had  decided  that,  next 
after  being  one  of  One-Eye's  company,  he  would  like  to  be 
a  scout.  And  here 

"Yes.  Would  you  ?"  What  had  brought  the  leader 
back  was  the  look  of  heartrending  yearning  in  the  gray 
eyes  of  a  tattered  little  boy.  He  smiled,  seeing  that  look 
swiftly  change  to  one  of  joy,  of  awe. 

"A  scout!"  repeated  Johnnie.  Suddenly  beside  him 
there  was  standing  a  figure  that  was  strange  to  Second 
Avenue.  The  figure  was  that  of  a  sunburned,  lanky  indi- 
vidual wearing  a  hunting  shirt  of  forest-green,  fringed 
with  faded  yellow,  and  a  summer  cap  of  skins  which  had 
been  shorn  of  their  fur.  Under  the  smock-frock  were  leg- 
gings laced  at  the  sides,  and  gartered  above  the  knees.  On 
his  feet  were  moccasins.  There  was  a  knife  in  his  girdle, 
and  in  his  hands  a  long  rifle.  This  was  one  of  Johnnie's 
new  friends,  that  slayer  of  bad  Indians,  that  crack  shot, 
the  brave  scout  of  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans.  "And  y' 
say  I  can  be  one?  One  just  like  Hawkeye?" 

"Hawkeye?" — the  young  man  was  puzzled. 

Johnnie  was  disappointed.  "Oh,  y'  don't  know  him," 
he  said.  "But  he's  a  scout." 

"I  mean  a  boy  scout,"  explained  the    other,  kindly. 


150          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"Like  my  troop  there" — with  a  jerk  of  the  head  toward 
the  khaki-clad  column,  now  halted  a  block  away  on  the 
edge  of  the  sidewalk. 

Now  that  radiant,  sunlit  look — the  glowing  eyes  and 
the  flashing  teeth  adding  to  the  shine  of  hair  and  brows 
and  lashes.  "Boy  scout!"  cried  Johnnie.  Hawkeye  was 
gone.  Another  vision  stood  in  his  place.  It  was  Johnnie 
himself,  gloriously  transformed.  "Oh,  gee !  Oh,  my  good- 
ness! Oh,  Mister!  Oh,  could  J.?  I'm  crazy  to!  Crazy!" 

The  usual  crowd  of  the  curious — boys  mostly — was  now 
pressing  about  the  leader  and  Johnnie,  the  two  or  three 
grown  people  in  it  peeping  over  the  heads  of  the  younger 
ones.  But  the  young  man  seemed  not  to  mind ;  and  as  for 
Johnnie,  if  honors  were  coming  his  way  on  the  open  street, 
what  could  be  better  than  to  have  a  few  onlookers? 

"Of  course  you'll  be  one,"  declared  the  leader,  heartily. 
He  produced  a  pencil  and  a  businesslike  notebook.  There 
was  a  pair  of  glasses  hanging  against  his  coat  on  a  round, 
black  cord.  These  he  adjusted.  "Name  and  address?" 
he  asked;  " — then  I'll  drop  in  to  see  you,  and  we'll  talk 
it  all  over  with  your  father." 

Johnnie  gave  the  information.  "Only  I  ain't  got  a 
father,"  he  corrected,  as  the  pencil  traveled.  "But  y'  can 
tell  the  boy  scouts,  if  y'  want  t',  that  I  got  a  cowboy 
friend  named  One-Eye,  and  he  lives  in  a  garden  that's  down 
in  a  terrible  big  cellar,  and  wears  fur  all  up  his  pants  in 
front,  and  a  bigger  hat'n  yours,  and  spurs.  And  I  got 
five  books — Aladdin,  and  The  Mohicans,  and  Treasure  Is- 
land, and  King  Arthur  and  Crusoe!" 

The  crowd  listened,  ready  to  laugh  if  the  young  man 
did,  which  was  what  the  young  man  did  not.  On  the  con- 
trary, what  Johnnie  had  said  seemed  to  have  wrought  the 
considerable  effect  Johnnie  had  desired.  For  the  young 
man  opened  his  eyes  so  big  at  Johnnie  that  the  glasses  fell 


SCOUTS  151 

off,  and  hit  a  button  of  his  tunic  with  a  clear  ring.  "You 
•. — you  read?"  he  inquired. 

"I  should  say  so !"  returned  Johnnie,  cheeks  going  red 
with  pride.  "Most  all  the  time !  But  I'm  goin'  t'  write  a 
lot  next — goin'  t'  copy  all  my  books  out,  'cause  Cis  says 
that's  the  way  I  can  learn  t'  spell  the  big  words.  And 
lookee ! — the  handkerchief  One-Eye  give  me !" 

"Did  you  say  One-Eye  or  Hawkeye?"  asked  the  young 
man,  feeling  of  the  handkerchief  with  evident  respect  for 
its  appearance  and  quality. 

"Oh,  One-Eye !"  declared  Johnnie.  "  'Cause  that's  all 
the  eyes  he's  got.  But  he  owns  miles  and  miles  of  land,  and 
hunderds  of  cattle,  and  he's  so  rich  that  he  rides  ev'ry- 
wheres  he  goes  in  the  city  in  a  taxi,  all  the  time !" 

"Well !  well !"  exclaimed  the  leader.  There  was  just  the 
flicker  of  a  smile  in  his  eyes  now  (Johnnie  noted  that  those 
eyes  were  exactly  the  color  of  ground  coffee). 

"I've  got  a  dog,  too," — talking  as  fast  as  possible  in 
order  to  get  a  great  deal  said.  "But  I  jus'  think  him,  like 
I  do  Mister  Buckle,  and  Mister  Astor,  and  Mister  Rocke- 
feller, and  Mister  Carnegie,  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and 
Mister  Van " 

At  that  the  leader  laughed,  but  he  patted  Johnnie  on 
the  shoulder.  "Tell  me  all  about  'em  when  I  come,"  he 
said.  "I  must  go  now.  But  I'll  see  you  soon.  Good-by !" 
As  he  backed,  his  hand  went  to  the  brim  of  his  hat — in  a 
salute ! 

"Goo-good-by !"  Johnnie  faltered.  His  own  right  hand 
moved  uncertainly,  for  he  would  have  liked  to  make  the 
salute  in  return,  only  he  did  not  know  how. 

The  other  started  off  at  a  run,  following  the  rails  up 
the  Avenue,  while  some  of  that  crowd  turned  away,  scat- 
tering. What  remained  of  the  group  began  to  aim  ques- 
tions at  Johnnie,  rooted  to  the  pavement  beside  his  box. 


152          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"Who's  'at,  kid?  What's  he  want?  What  y'  goin'  t' 
do?" 

To  answer,  Johnnie  had  to  lower  himself  down  from 
the  skies,  to  which  he  had  been  lifted  by  that  salute.  "You 
kids  don't  know  One-Eye,"  he  said,  a  trifle  loftily.  "Well, 
do  y'  know  Aladdin?  or  Long  John  Silver?  or — or  Jim 
Hawkins?  or  Uncas?  or  King  Arthur?" 

The  last  name  proved  to  be  an  error  in  selection.  In- 
stantly the  half-dozen  boys  about  Johnnie  set  up  a  de- 
risive shout :  "He  knows  a  King !  Aw,  kids !  He  knows  a 
King!  Wheel" 

A  faint  smile,  betokening  pity,  curved  Johnnie's  lips. 
Oh,  but  they  were  ignorant !  and  had  no  stylish  friends ! 
"That  gent,  he  come  back  t'  ask  me  t'  be  a  scout,"  he  ex- 
plained calmly.  "Didn't  y'  hear  what  he  said?  And 
maybe  I'll  be  one — that  is  till  I  go  out  West  t'  be  a  cow- 
boy."  * 

The  shouting  and  the  laughter  broke  forth  again,  re- 
doubling. "And  he's  goin'  t'  be  a  cowboy!"  they  yelled. 
"Look  at 'im!  Old  rags!  Yaw!" 

Johnnie  put  the  rope  over  a  shoulder  and  again  started 
for  home.  He  scarcely  heard  the  screeching  urchins. 
And  he  did  not  heed  them.  He  was  in  khaki  and  leggings 
now,  and  had  on  a  wide  hat  held  in  place  by  a  thong  which 
came  just  short  of  his  chin.  A  haversack  was  on  his  back, 
hanging  from  lanyards  that  creased  a  smart  coat.  He 
was  also  equipped  with  a  number  of  other  things  the  names 
of  which,  as  yet,  he  did  not  know. 

Tramp !  tramp !  tramp !  tramp ! — he  was  as  military  as 
a  major-general. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
HOPE  DEFERRED 


'  ""T^  OY  SCOUTS,"  explained  Mrs.  Kukor,  "wass  aw- 
ful stylish.     Say  you  wass  a  scout,  so  you  go  in 


R 

beautiful  gangs  for  makink  picnic  und  seeink 
birds,  mit  eatinks  from  goot  foods,  und  such  comes  healthy 
for  you." 

Cis  added  to  that  when  she  arrived  home  that  evening. 
"Boy  scouts  help  the  police  sometimes,"  she  declared,  "and 
march  in  parades,  and  hunt  babies  that  get  lost,  rfid  don't 
let  bad  boys  hurt  cats,  or  girls,  and  they  do  nice  things 
for  grown  people — just  the  way  Sir  Gawain  did,  and  Sir 
Kay.  And  I  shouldn't  wonder,  at  the  Table  Round,  when 
King  Arthur's  knights  were  little,  if  they  weren't  all  boy 
scouts.  But,  oh,  Johnnie,  what  would  he  say  if  you  told 
him  when  he  gets  in  that  you  want  to  be  a  scout?" 

Johnnie  laughed.  "He'd  have  a  fit !"  he  declared,  the 
thought  of  Barber's  consternation  and  anger  amusing  him 
far  more  than  it  made  him  fearful. 

He  was  still  in  this  happy  state  of  mind  when  Cis 
chanced  to  remark  that  there  were  girl  scouts  as  well  as 
boy  scouts.  At  once  he  was  shocked,  and  wrathy,  and 
quite  disgusted.  For  it  spoiled  the  whole  boy  scout  idea 
for  him  if  girls  could  be  scouts. 

"Aw!"  he  cried,  getting  red  with  annoyance,  "I  don't 
believe  it!  How  could  girls  be  scouts?.  If  knights  was 
scouts  when  they  was  little,  well,  anyhow  girls  never  could 
be  knights!" 

153 


154          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Cis  did  not  know  how  it  was,  only  that  it  was  so ;  and 
she  reminded  him,  with  appeal  in  the  violet-blue  eyes,  that 
she  was  not  a  particle  to  blame  for  it.  "Girls  can  march," 
she  said ;  "and  they  can  be  kind  to  cats  and  people  a  lot 
better  than  boys  can." 

"One  thing  sure,"  Johnnie  went  on,  firmly,  "girls  can't 
be  cowboys."  He  determined  to  think  twice  before  he  be- 
came a  scout  since,  apparently,  the  organization  was  not 
so  exclusive  as  he  had  thought. 

"Oh,  but  girls  can  be  cowgirls,"  went  on  Cis.  "I've  seen 
pictures  of  cowgirls  lots  of  times.  They  wear  divided 
skirts." 

At  that,  Johnnie  turned  pale.  "Well,  I  bet  girls  can't  be 
pirate-killers,"  he  retorted  angrily,  "like  Jim  Hawkins. 
Or  a  p'liceman  on  horseback,  or  a  millionaire,  or  own  is- 
lands aU  by  theirselves,  or  ride  ePphants  like  Aladdin,  or 
poke  other  girls  off  horses  with  spears !" 

As  Big  Tom  now  came  scuffing  into  the  kitchen,  nothing 
more  could  be  said  on  the  subject.  But  later  on  Johnnie 
again  complained  to  Cis  about  the  intrusion  of  girls  into 
ranks  where  they  could  not  fail  to  be  both  unwelcome  and 
unsuited.  "They  don't  belong,"  he  urged,  "and  they  ought 
t'  keep  out !  They  spoil  evVt/thing !" 

"Well,  men  do  the  same  things,"  she  argued.  "Just  to- 
day I  saw  a  man  running  a  sewing  machine." 

"But  he's  got  t*  do  it  for  some  reason,"  Johnnie  de- 
clared, "like  I  have  t'  make  vi'lets — and  cook." 

"But  if  all  the  boy  scouts  don't  care  because  girls  are 
girl  scouts,  why  should  you  care?"  she  wanted  to  know, 
hurt  at  his  attitude  toward  her  sex.  "You  know  you  don't 
belong  yet.  And  if  that  young  man  thinks  it's  all  right, 
why  it  must  be,  and  he'll  think  you're  funny  if  you  scold 
about  it." 

The  next  morning  Johnnie  had  but  one  thought:  The 
promised  call  of  the  leader.  Naturally  he  did  not  take  his 


HOPE    DEFERRED  155 

usual  trip  to  search  for  One-Eye  and  bring  home  a  box. 
Instead  he  made  elaborate  preparations  looking  toward 
the  arrival  of  his  visitor.  With  One-Eye,  somehow  it  had 
not  mattered  how  the  flat  appeared.  Hero  though  he  was, 
style  counted  little  with  the  cowboy,  who  dwelt  in  a  cel- 
lar along  with  horses.  And  anyhow  One-Eye  thought  the 
flat  was  all  right  "far's  it  goes."  Those  had  been  his  very 
words. 

But  with  that  leader,  Johnnie  felt  it  was  different.  He 
proceeded  at  once,  mentally,  to  establish  the  gallant  young 
stranger  in  a  most  luxurious  apartment,  with  big  win- 
dows, lace  curtains,  a  figured  carpet  and  shining  morris 
chairs.  And  though  across  this  attractive  bachelor  habi- 
tation he  stretched  a  clothesline  for  the  drying  of  expen- 
sive laundry,  he  was  careful  to  think  this  line  as  a  brand 
new  one  which  was  never  used  as  a  telephone,  since  right 
at  hand  was  the  genuine  instrument. 

How  Johnnie  went  to  work !  When  all  of  the  duties  of 
the  flat  were  done,  he  pulled  off  the  apron  and  hid  it  in 
the  wash  boiler.  He  did  not  want  that  leader  to  catch  him 
wearing  any  garment  that  belonged  to  a  woman.  Neither 
did  he  want  his  newest  friend  even  to  guess  that  he  (John- 
nie) did  any  sort  of  girl's  work — in  particular  any  cook- 
ing. 

"My  goodness !"  he  exclaimed  to  himself.  "If  he  was  t* 
know  what  I  do — well,  maybe  he  wouldn't  ask  me  t'  be  one 
of  his  scouts!" 

Now  he  went  at  himself.  He  washed  his  face  so  that  it 
glistened.  He  scrubbed  his  neck  and  ears  till  they  were 
scarlet.  And  still  using  the  soap  liberally,  even  contrived 
to  get  rid  of  a  coal  smudge  of  long  standing,  situated  down 
along  his  thin  left  calf. 

But  the  morning  passed,  and  the  afternoon  went  by, 
and — no  one  came. 

No  one,  that  is,  but  Mrs.  Kukor,  who  looked  in  toward 


156          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

five  o'clock.  In  amazement  she  noted  the  neatness  of  the 
kitchen  and  the  cleanliness  of  his  face.  "Ach,  Levi !"  she 
exclaimed.  "How  you  gits  a  runnink  jump  mit  yoursel- 
luf!" 

"Prob'ly  that  gentleman,  he's  been  awful  busy  to-day," 
said  Johnnie,  "and  so  he'll  be  here  first  thing  in  the 
morninV 

"Pos-i-tiwle !"  comforted  Mrs.  Kukor. 

But  late  that  night,  when  the  whole  flat  was  abed,  he 
admitted  to  himself  not  only  his  disappointment  but  his 
keen  chagrin.  And  he  said  to  himself,  independent  now, 
that  perhaps,  after  all,  he  did  not  care  to  be  a  scout! — 
there  were  so  many  other  wonderful  things  he  could  be. 

This  is  how  it  came  about  that,  lying  in  the  dark,  he 
thought  a  most  curious  thing — one  that  had  to  do  with 
the  years  ahead — the  future  that  would  find  him 
grown-up. 

The  thing  was  this :  he  Held  himself  away  from  himself 
to  look  at  himself — precisely  as  he  might  have  looked  at 
Cis,  or  Big  Tom,  or  Grandpa.  But  this  was  not  all.  For 
he  did  not  look  at  himself  as  he  was,  in  the  big,  old  clothes ; 
and  he  did  not  look  at  himself  singly.  He  looked  at  six 
tiiinselves,  all  ranged  in  a  wonderful  row ! 

Remembering  what  Cis  had  said  about  girl  scouts  and 
cowgirls,  there  was  no  Johnnie  Smith  either  in  khaki  or 
in  fur-trimmed  breeches.  The  first  Johnnie  Smith  of  the 
row  was  a  policeman  (mounted !)  ;  the  second,  a  millionaire, 
wearing  his  fur  on  his  collar;  then  there  was  a  Johnnie 
Smith  dressed  like  Jim  Hawkins,  and  he  had  two  pistols 
in  his  belt ;  beside  this  pirate-slaying  Johnnie  was  a  John- 
nie who  inhabited  a  lonely  island  with  a  gentleman  who 
owned  a  parrot  and  had  a  man  Friday ;  and  not  too  close 
to  the  Johnnie  who  was  Crusoe's  friend  was  a  Johnnie  who 
rode  about  with  Aladdin  on  a  great  fighting  elephant' 
covered  with  blankets  of  steel  which  could  turn  the  arrows 


HOPE   DEFERRED  157 

of  all  enemies ;  last  of  the  six,  and  perhaps  the  most  glori- 
ous, too,  was  Sir  Johnnie  Smith,  helmeted,  and  in  knightly 
dress,  sitting  a  curveting  gray,  lance  and  shield  in  hand. 

Which  of  them  all  would  he  be? 

There  was  plenty  of  time  to  decide.  A  thin  cheek 
cupped  in  a  too-large  hand,  he  slept,  dreaming  that  the 
leader  was  at  the  hall  door,  knocking,  knocking,  knock- 
ing, but  that  for  the  life  of  him,  Johnnie  could  not  move 
to  answer  the  knock,  being  fixed  to  the  floor,  and  helpless. 
He  called  to  the  young  man,  though,  with  his  whole  might, 
which  woke  Big  Tom  and  Cis,  and  Cis  woke  Johnnie,  by 
telling  him  to  turn  over,  for  he  was  having  a  nightmare. 

Next  morning,  hope  buoyed  Johnnie  up  from  the  mo- 
ment he  opened  his  eyes.  He  rose  joyously ;  and  by  nine 
o'clock  everything  was  in  readiness  for  the  coming  of  the 
leader,  and  Johnnie  was  waiting  eagerly,  ears  cocked. 

But  when,  shortly  before  noon,  he  realizea  that  a 
stranger  was  climbing  the  tenement  stairs,  not  his  ears 
but  his  small  nose  gave  him  the  information.  Charging  the 
air  from  the  hall  was  perfume  so  strong  and  delightful 
that,  sniffing  it  in  surprise  and  pleasure,  he  hastened  to 
open  the  door  and  glance  up  and  around  in  the  gloom  for 
what  he  felt  sure  would  be  like  a  smoke. 

He  saw  nothing;  but  heard  lively  breathing,  and  a 
swish,  swish,  swish;  next,  a  weak,  mewlike  cry.  Then 
here  was  Mrs.  Kukor  herself,  dropping  down  volubly,  step 
by  step,  from  her  floor,  aided  by  the  banisters.  "Eva?" 
she  cried  as  she  came;  "wass  it  mine  Eva?" 

Now,  coming  up  the  stairs  to  Johnnie's  level,  appeared 
a  young  lady  with  red  cheeks  on  a  marvelously  white  face. 
She  had  on  a  silk  dress  (it  was  the  silk  which  was  doing 
the  swishing),  a  great  deal  of  jewelry,  and  a  heavy  fur 
coat  fairly  adrip  around  its  whole  lower  edge  with  dozens 
of  little  tails. 

But  this  was  not  all.     Slung  under  one  arm,  she  carried 


158          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

a  fat  baby! — and  what  a  rosy,  what  a  spotlessly  clean, 
baby! 

The  baby  was  Mrs.  Kukor's  grandson,  the  lady  was 
Mrs.  Kukor's  daughter,  for  "Mama!"  cried  the  young 
mother;  and  as  they  met  just  in  front  of  Johnnie  there 
was  an  explosive  outburst  of  talk  in  a  strange  tongue, 
and  much  of  what  Johnnie  afterwards  described  to  Cis 
as  "double  kissin',"  that  is,  a  kissing  on  both  cheeks,  the 
baby  coming  in  for  his  share  and  weeping  over  it  forlornly. 

Greeting  done,  Mrs.  Kukor  introduced  Johnnie.  "Eva," 
she  beamed,  "from  long  you  have  hear  Mama  speakink 
over  Chonnie  Schmitt.  Und — here  wass  !" 

Fortunately  Johnnie's  right  hand  was  clean.  So  was 
his  smiling  face.  "Oh,  Mrs.  Reisenberger,  I  thank  you 
for  the  tel'phone-d'rect'ry,"  he  began  gratefully,  as  the 
two  shook  hands. 

Mrs.  ^leisenberger  was  staring  at  his  rags.  Also,  she 
was  now  holding  the  baby  well  up  and  back.  "Oh,  I  don't 
like  it  that  my  Mama  should  live  down  here,"  she  declared. 
"She  can  live  swell  in  the  Bronx  with  Jake  and  me." 

Now  Johnnie  stared — miserably.  For  her  words  were 
like  a  sickening  blow.  What  if  Mrs.  Kukor  were  to  leave? 
jWhat  would  he  do  without  her? 

"I  like  I  should  live  always  by  mine  own  place,"  asserted 
Mrs.  Kukor.  And  to  Johnnie,  as  she  plucked  a  bit  of 
Mrs.  Reisenberger's  skirt  between  a  thumb  and  finger, 
"Look,  Chonnie!  All  from  silks!" 

Then  she  led  the  way  higher,  while  heads  popped  out 
of  doors  all  up  and  down  the  house ;  and  Mrs.  Reisenberger 
puffed  after  her,  like  some  sort  of  a  sweet-smelling,  red- 
and-white  engine.  "Oh,  Mama,"  expostulated  the  other 
between  breaths  as  she  toiled  to  that  last  floor,  "how  I 
wish  you  should  come  to  live  with  Jake  and  me !" 

Mrs.  Reisenberger  was  excitement  enough  for  one  day. 
But  on  the  day  following  nothing  happened,  nor  on  the 


HOPE   DEFERRED  159 

day  after  that.     And  gradually  Johnnie's  hope  began  to 
lessen,  his  faith  to  ooze. 

By  the  end  of  a  week,  the  young  man  with  the  eyeglasses 
scarcely  seemed  real,  so  that  when  Cis  gently  sug- 
gested that  Johnnie  had  never  met  any  leader,  he  was 
hardly  able  to  protest  that  he  had.  By  the  end  of  a 
fortnight,  his  newest  friend  merged  with  that  unsubstan- 
tial company  made  up  of  David,  Aladdin,  Uncas  and  all 
the  rest.  Then  Johnnie  took  to  telephoning  him  over 
the  clothesline.  Also,  when  Cis  was  home,  the  scout  leader 
had  a  part  in  all  those  elaborate  social  functions  she 
enjoyed,  such  as  dances,  and  calling,  and  shopping. 

These  days,  Johnnie  again  wore  the  apron,  and  neglected 
the  soap  and  the  comb  and  the  brushing.  Ah,  it  had  all 
been  too  good  to  come  true! 

Two  or  three  times,  with  a  nubbin  of  chalk,  he  tried  to 
idraw  the  face  of  the  young  man  on  that  hairay  bit  of 
kitchen  wall  where  the  smooth  plaster  showed.  But  what 
unpracticed  hand  could  trace  such  a  splendid  counten- 
ance? and  what  bit  of  white  crayon  could  give  any  idea 
of  a  cheek  all  tan  and  red?  It  was  one  thing,  and  easy, 
to  suggest  Big  Tom,  with  his  bulging  eyes,  his  huge, 
twisted  nose,  his  sloping  chin  and  his  Saturday  night 
bristles.  But  regular  features  were  quite  another  matter. 

Then  one  morning  as  he  stood  writing  the  big  word 
"landscape"  on  the  plaster,  this  word  being  out  of  The 
Last  of  the  Mohicans,  which  he  held  in  his  left  hand, 
his  attention  was  caught  by  a  sound  in  the  hall.  Some  one 
seemed  to  be  walking  about  aimlessly,  as  if  uncertain 
where  to  knock. 

Johnnie  dropped  his  book  into  the  big  shirt,  reached 
the  door  in  a  few  long  jumps,  jerked  it  wide,  and — looked 
straight  into  a  smiling,  ruddy  face. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
MR.   PERKINS 

HE  was  real !  He  had  come !  In  a  uniform,  too,  and 
boots,  and  a  hat! — looking,  in  fact,  even  more 
wonderful  than  he  had  under  the  Elevated. 

"Oh !"  breathed  Johnnie,  so  glad  and  proud  all  at  once 
that  he  forgot  the  apron  and  his  hair,  or  that  the  table 
was  still  strewn  with  the  breakfast  dishes.  He  fell  back 
a  step.  "Oh,  Mister  Leader !" 

The  yAng  man  entered,  lifting  his  hat  from  his  head 
as  he  came,  and  displaying  short,  smooth,  dark  hair 
that  glistened  even  in  that  poorly  lighted  room.  "How 
are  you,  Johnnie!"  he  said  heartily.  They  shook  hands. 

"I'm  fine !"  answered  Johnnie,  smiling  his  sunniest. 

"Good!"  The  other  gave  a  swift  glance  round.  And 
certainly  he  was  neither  shocked  nor  delighted  with  the 
kitchen,  for  he  acted  as  if  he  was  seeing  the  sort  of  place 
he  had  expected  to  see — until  he  spied  the  wheel  chair. 
Then  he  seemed  surprised,  and  greatly  interested.  He 
laid  his  hat  among  the  breakfast  cups  and  crossed  the 
room  softly  to  look  down  at  the  little  old  man  crumpled, 
sleeping,  in  the  folds  of  the  moth-eaten  coat,  the  doll  on 
one  arm. 

"Grandpa  Barber,"  explained  Johnnie,  speaking  low. 
"I  took  him  on  a  long  trip  down  the  Miss'sippi  this  morn- 
in%  and  he's  awful  tired." 

The  young  man  nodded.  A  curious  wrinkle  had  come 
between  his  brows,  as  if  some  thought  were  troubling  him. 

160 


MR.   PERKINS  161 

[Also,  even  his  foreKead  was  red  now.  Suddenly  He  took 
but  a  handkerchief,  turned,  and  walked  to  the  window, 
where  he  used  the  handkerchief  rather  noisily,  shaking  his 
head.  When  he  came  about  once  more,  and  emerged  from 
behind  the  square  of  white  linen,  not  only  did  he  look  as 
if  he  were  blushing  violently,  but  even  his  eyes  were  a 
little  red. 

"Are  you  going  to  ask  me  to  sit  down?"  He  asked,  smil- 
ing. 

"Oh,  I  am !  I  do !  Oh,  what's  the  matter  with  me  t'day ! 
I  forgit  ev'ry  thing!" 

The  young  man  chose  the  morris  chair. 

It  was  then  that  Johnnie  realized  how  untidy  the  kitchen 
was,  remembered  that  he  had  not  washed  the  old  soldier's 
face,  or  his  own,  or  got  rid  of  that  apron.  With  fumbling 
fingers  and  mounting  color,  he  slipped  the  apron  strings 
over  his  tangled  hair.  "How'd  I  come  t'  have  iJiis  thing 
on!"  he  exclaimed,  and  looked  at  the  apron  as  if  he  had 
never  seen  it  before. 

The  young  man  seemed  not  to  notice  either  Johnnie's 
confusion  or  the  soiled  badge  of  girlish  service.  "You 
can  call  me  Mr.  Perkins,  if  you  like,"  he  said  pleas- 
antly. "And  tell  me — what've  you  been  doing  with  your- 
self since  I  saw  you?" 

Again  sunlight  focused  upon  Johnnie's  face.  "Well, 
mostly,"  he  replied,  " — mostly,  I  been  jus'  waitin'  for 
you."  He  seated  himself  on  the  kitchen  chair. 

"Now,  you  don't  mean  it !"  cried  Mr.  Perkins,  blushing 
again.  "Well,  bless  your  heart,  old  fellow!  Waiting 
for  me!  I  wish  I  could've  come  sooner.  But  I've  been 
pretty  busy — up  to  my  ears!" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  Johnnie  assured  him.  "  'Cause 
I  filled  in  the  wait  good  'nough.  I  jus'  kept  thinkin' 
you  here,  and  ev'ry  mornin'  Grandpa  and  me'd  have  you 
?long  with  us  when  we  went  t'  Niaggery,  or  anywheres 


162          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

else;  and  ev'ry  night,  Cis'd  take  you  with  us,  callin'  on 
the  Queen,  or  buyin'  at  the  stores,  or  goin'  t'  grand  balls." 

After  that,  Mr.  Perkins  did  not  have  anything  to  say 
for  as  much  as  a  whole  minute,  but  sat  looking  earnestly 
at  his  small  host,  and  blinking  a  good  deal.  Then,  "I  see," 
he  said  finally.  "That's  nice.  Mighty  nice.  I'm  glad. 
'And — and  I  hope  I  conducted  myself  all  right." 

"Oh,  you  was  fine !  Always !"  declared  Johnnie,  his  voice 
breaking,  he  was  so  emphatic.  "Cis  never  could  dance 
with  One-Eye,  and  not  jus'  'cause  he  wears  spurs,  neither. 
No,  she  thinks  One-Eye's  too  homely  to  dance,  or  go 
callin',  or  take  t'  Wanamaker's.  But,  oh,  she  says  you're 
jus'  fine!  Maybe  not  as  grand  as  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
she  says,  but  then  she's  awful  silly  about  him." 

More  steady  looking ;  more  blinking.  "Well, — er — what 
did  you  say  the  little  girl's  name  is  ?" 

"Her  Tfull  name's  Narcissa  Amy  Way,"  answered 
Johnnie.  "It's  pretty  long,  ain't  it?  And  if  Grandpa 
and  me  called  her  that,  Big  Tom'd  think  we  was  wastin* 
time,  or  tryin*  t'  be  stylish,  and  he  hates  ev'rything  that's 
stylish — I  don't  know  why.  So  round  the  flat,  for  ev'ry 
day,  we  call  her  Cis — C-i-s." 

"Well,  Miss  Narcissa  is  right  about  me,"  said  Mr. 
Perkins.  "I'm  not  as  grand  as  the  Prince  of  Wales — not 
by  a  good  deal !  But  now  suppose  you  tell  me  all  about 
yourself,  and — and  the  others  who  live  here." 

Johnnie  did  so.  And  since  he  spoke  low,  and  evenly, 
Grandpa  did  not  wake,  to  interrupt.  At  the  end  of  an 
hour,  Mr.  Perkins  knew  all  that  Johnnie  was  able  to 
tell — about  himself,  his  parents,  his  Uncle  and  Aunt, 
Mike  Callaghan,  the  policeman,  and  the  Fifty-fifth  Street 
millionaire;  about  Cis  and  her  mother,  Barber  and  his 
father,  Mrs.  Kukor,  One-Eye  and  the  other  cowboys, 
Buckle,  Boof,  David,  Goliath  (mingling  the  real,  the  his- 
torical, the  visionary  and  the  purely  fictional),  young 


MR.   PERKINS  It3 

Edward  of  England,  that  Prince's  numerous  silk-hatted 
friends,  the  four  millionaires,  the  janitress,  Mrs.  Reisen- 
berger  and  her  baby,  the  flea-bitten  mare,  the  postman, 
Edwarda  (he  showed  the  new  doll),  then,  in  quick  succes- 
sion, his  favorite  friends  out  of  his  five  books. 

Mr.  Perkins  listened,  sitting  on  the  small  of  his  back, 
with  his  elbows  on  th^  arms  of  the  morris  chair,  and  his 
fingers  touching.  And  when  Johnnie  came  to  the  end  of 
his  story  (with  King  Arthur,  and  those  three  Queens  who 
kneeled  around  the  king  and  sorely  wept  and  wailed),  all 
the  visitor  said  was,  "Good  boy!  And  now  tell  me  more 
about  your  reading." 

Johnnie's  eyes  danced.  He  stood  up,  fairly  quivering 
with  happy  excitement.  Enthusiastically  he  explained 
that  directly  under  Mr.  Perkins  was  his  oldest  book,  where- 
at Mr.  Perkins  got  up,  lifted  the  old  chair  cushion,  and 
discovered  the  telephone  directory.  However,  astonishing 
as  it  may  seem,  he  had  one  just  like  it,  so  Johnnie  did 
not  lift  the  big  book  out  to  show  its  chief  points  of 
interest.  Instead,  he  brought  forth  from  Cis's  closet  his 
other  treasures  in  binding,  laying  them  very  choicely  on 
the  table,  and  handing  them  over  one  by  one — the  best- 
looking  of  the  lot  first. 

The  books  were  put  away  again  very  soon,  Johnnie 
explaining  why.  "But  y'  can  keep  the  newspaper  out," 
he  declared.  "Big  Tom's  seen  it,  and  didn't  try  even  t* 
tear  it  up." 

"That  was  nice  of  him!"  asserted  Mr.  Perkins,  as  he 
noted  the  date  on  the  paper.  "But  what  about  school?" 

"Oh,  gee!  I  forgot  all  about  Mister  Maloney!"  re- 
gretted Johnnie.  He  filled  in  the  gap  promptly,  includ- 
ing night  school,  and  the  matter  of  his  not  having  suitable 
clothes.  "But  when  Mister  Maloney  heard  how  I  can 
read,"  he  concluded,  "he  seen  I  didn't  need  t'  go  t'  school 
the  way  other  kids  do.  Or  anyhow" — remarking  a  curi- 


164  THE  RICH  LITTLE   POOR   BOY 

ous  light  in  those  coffee-colored  eyes — "that's  what  Big 
Tom  says.  And  I  can  write  good.  Watch  me,  Mister 
Perkins!  I'll  write  for  you  on  the  plaster — big  words, 
too!" 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  you  write  well,"  Mr.  Perkins  agreed. 
"So  I'd  rather  you'd  talk.  Tell  me  this:  what  do  you 
eat?" 

Johnnie  answered,  and  as  correctly  as  possible,  being 
careful  all  the  while  not  to  give  so  much  as  a  hint  of  the 
shameful  truth  that  he,  himself,  did  most  of  the  cooking. 
As  he  talked,  he  kept  wishing  that  the  conversation  would 
swing  round  to  scouts  and  uniforms.  He  even  tried  to 
swing  it  himself.  "Mrs.  Kukor  says  that  scouts  make 
picnics,"  he  said,  "and  have  awful  good  things  t'  eat." 

But  Mr.  Perkins  passed  that  over,  hint  and  all.  He 
wanted  taknow  whether  or  not  Johnnie  got  plenty  of  milk. 

"Oh,  the  milk  we  buy  is  all  for  Grandpa,"  Johnnie 
protested.  "A  big  kid  like  me " 

Mr.  Perkins  interrupted.  "I  take  a  quart  a  day,"  he 
said  quietly,  "and  I'm  a  bigger  kid  than  you  are ;  I'm 
twenty-one.  Milk's  got  everything  in  it  that  a  man  needs 
from  one  end  of  his  life  to  the  other.  Don't  forget  that." 

"No,  sir," — fixing  upon  his  visitor  a  look  that  admitted 
he  was  wrong.  "I  wish  I  could  drink  a  lot  of  milk,"  he 
added  regretfully. 

"And  what  about  exercise?  and  baths?  Out-door  exer- 
cise, I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Perkins. 

"I  hang  out  o'  the  window  'most  ev'ry  mornin'  that  I 
don't  go  after  boxes,"  answered  Johnnie,  so  glad  that  he 
could  give  a  satisfactory  account  of  the  matter  of  fresh 
air.  "And  bathin',  well,  I  bathed  ev'ry  day  when  I  was 
at  my  Aunt  Sophie's,  but  down  here " 

"Yes  ?"    Mr.  Perkins  smiled  encouragement. 

"We  ain't  got  no  tub,"  said  Johnnie,  "so  my  neck's  'bout 
as  far  as  I  ever  git." 


MR.  PERKINS  165 

Then  the  moment  for  which  he  had  been  waiting:  "And 
you  think  you'd  like  to  be  a  scout?"  inquired  Mr.  Perkins. 

"Oh,  gee!"  sighed  Johnnie.  He  relaxed  from  sheer  ex- 
cess of  feeling.  His  head  tipped  back  against  his  chair, 
and  he  wagged  it  comically.  "Wouldn't  I  jus' !  And  wear 
clothes  like  yours,  and — and  learn  t'  s'lute !" 

Mr.  Perkins  laughed,  but  it  was  a  pleasant,  promising 
laugh.  "We'll  see  what  can  be  done,"  he  said  briskly. 
"And  to  begin  with,  how  old  are  you  ?" 

Johnnie  opened  his  mouth — but  held  his  tongue.  He 
guessed  that  age  had  something  to  do  with  being  a  scout. 
But  what?  Was  he  too  old?  But  the  boys  who  had 
marched  past  him  were  as  tall  as  he,  if  not  taller.  Then 
was  he  too  young?  Taken  unaware,  he  was  not  able 
quickly  to  decide  what  the  trouble  might  be.  But  he  had 
not  lived  five  years  at  Tom  Barber's  without  learning  how 
to  get  himself  out  of  a  tight  corner.  This  time,  all  he 
had  to  do  was  tell  the  absolute  truth.  "I  don't  'xac'ly 
know,"  he  answered. 

"Mm !"  Mr.  Perkins  thought  that  over.  Presently,  ad- 
justing his  glasses,  he  looked  Johnnie  up  and  down,  while 
anxious  swallows  undulated  Johnnie's  thin  neck,  and 
about  his  knobs  of  knees  the  long  fringe  of  the  big  trous- 
ers trembled.  "But  we  can  find  out  how  old  you  are, 
can't  we?"  Mr.  Perkins  added,  with  a  sudden  smile. 

"I  guess  I'm  ten  goin'  on  'leven,"  capitulated  Johnnie. 

"Ten  going  on  eleven !  That's  splendid !  It's  the  best 
age  to  begin  getting  ready  to  be  a  scqut!  The  very 
best!" 

"Gee!    I'm  glad!" 

"So  am  I!  You  see,  it  takes  some  time  to  be  a  scout. 
It'll  take  every  spare  minute  you've  got  to  get  ready. 
It's  something  that  can't  be  done  in  a  hurry.  But  here 
you've  got  more  than  a  year  to  prepare  yourself." 

"More'n  a — a  year?" 


166          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"All  scouts  are  twelve." 

"Oh!"    A  shadow  clouded  the  gray  eyes. 

"But  a  year  means  that  you  can  get  yourself  in  dandy 
condition.  And  would  you  mind  showing  me  how  fit  you 
are  now?" 

Johnnie  spread  out  his  hands  deprecatingly.  "That's 
the  trouble,"  he  declared,  looking  down  at  his  big,  old 
clothes.  "They  don't  fit." 

But  when  he  understood  just  what  Mr.  Perkins  meant, 
in  a  twinkling  he  had  slipped  Barber's  shirt  over  his 
head  and  was  standing  bared  to  the  waist,  all  his  little 
ribs  showing  pitifully,  and — as  he  faced  square  about — his 
shoulder  blades  thrusting  themselves  almost  through  a 
skin  that  was  a  sickly  white.  "Ain't  I  fine?"  he  wanted 
to  know.  "Don't  I  look  good'n  strong?" 

The  glasses  came  tumbling  off  Mr.  Perkins's  nose.  He 
coughed,  and  pulled  out  the  white  handkerchief  again, 
and  fell  to  polishing  the  crystal  discs.  "Fair,"  he  said 
slowly.  "But  there's  room  for  improvement." 

Johnnie  sensed  a  compassionate  note  in  the  answer. 
"Course  I  ain't  fat,"  he  conceded  hastily.  "But  when 
Mrs.  Kukor  gives  me  filled  fish  I  can  see  a  big  diff'rence 
right  away !" 

"Fat  isn't  what  a  boy  wants,"  returned  Mr.  Perkins. 
"He  wants  good  blood,  and  strong  muscles,  and  a  first- 
class  pair  of  lungs !" 

"Oh!"  Raising  the  big  shirt  on  high,  Johnnie  dis- 
appeared into  it,  fixing  upon  Mr.  Perkins  as  he  went  a 
look  that  was  full  of  anxiety.  As  he  emerged,  his  lip  was 
trembling.  "You — you  don't  think  I  look  all  right,  do 
you?"  he  asked.  "Maybe  you  think  I  can't  ever — you 
mean  I — I  can't  be " 

"Oh,  nothing  of  the  kind!"  laughed  Mr.  Perkins. 
"Fact  is,  Johnnie,  you're  way  ahead  as  far  as  your  mind 
is  concerned.  I'm  mighty  pleased  about  your  reading.  I 


MR.   PERKINS  167 

certainly  am,  old  fellow!  And  in  no  time  you  can  get 
some  blood  into  your  cheeks,  and  cultivate  some  muscle, 
and  straighten  out  your  lungs.  Once  there  was  a  boy  who 
was  in  worse  shape  than  you  are,  because  he  had  the 
asthma,  and  could  hardly  breathe.  And  what  do  you 
suppose  he  did?" 

"Et  lots  ?"  hazarded  Johnnie. 

"He  said  he  would  make  over  his  own  body,  and  he 
made  it  over." 

"But,  Mister  Perkins,  I'll  do  it,  too!  I'll  make  mine 
over !  Tell  me  how !" 

"Fresh  air,  proper  breathing,  exercises — day  after 
day,  that  boy  never  stopped.  And  when  he  grew  up,  he 
found  himself  a  strong  man  even  among  very  strong  men. 
That  was  the  great  American,  Theodore  Roosevelt." 

"Oh,  I  know  about  him!"  cried  Johnnie.  "He  was 
President  once,  and  he  was  a  soldier.  Cis  knows  a  girl, 
and  the  girl's  father,  he  worked  in  a  big,  stylish  hotel,  and 
once  he  carried  Mister  Roosevelt's  trunk  on  his  own  back ! 
Cis  could  name  the  girl,  and  prove  it !" 

But  Mr.  Perkins  had  no  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  the 
account.  "The  motto  of  the  Boy  Scouts  is  Be  Prepared," 
he  went  on.  "That  means,  be  ready — in  mind  and  body 
— to  meet  anything  that  happens.  Now,  as  I  said  a  bit 
ago,  Johnnie,  you've  got  a  good  brain.  And  when  your 
body's  strong,  it'll  not  only  be  a  promise  of  long  life 
for  you,  but  you  can  defend  yourself;  better  still,  you 
can  protect  others." 

"Yes,  sir!"  Johnnie  was  bubbling  with  eagerness. 
"Please  let  me  start  now.  Can  I?  What'll  I  do  first?" 

"Bathe,"  answered  Mr.  Perkins.  "Every  day.  Scrub 
yourself  from  head  to  foot.  Give  your  skin  a  chance  to 
breathe.  You'll  eat  better  and  sleep  better.  You'll  pick 
up." 

One,  two,  three,  and  the  dishes  were  cleared  from  the 


168          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

table.  Then  with  the  hall  door  locked  as  a  precaution, 
Johnnie  spread  the  oiled  table-cloth  on  the  floor  (though 
Mr.  Perkins  demurred  a  little  at  this),  planted  the  wash- 
tub  at  the  center  of  the  cloth,  half  filled  the  tub  from  the 
sink  spigot,  warmed  the  water  with  more  from  the  tea- 
kettle, and  took  a  long-deferred,  much-needed  rub  down. 
It  was  soapy,  and  thorough.  And  He  proved  to  himself 
that  he  really  liked  water  very  much— ^except,  perhaps,  in 
the  region  of  his  neck  and  ears ! 

When  he  was  rinsed  and  rubbed  dry,  and  in  his  clothes 
again,  Mr.  Perkins  took  off  his  own  coat.  Under  it  was 
a  khaki-colored  shirt,  smart  and  clean  and  soldierly,  that 
seemed  to  Johnnie  the  kind  of  shirt  most  to  be  desired 
among  all  the  shirts  of  the  world.  Mr.  Perkins  pushed  up 
the  sleeves  of  it,  planted  his  feet  squarely,  and  fell  to 
shooting  his  arms  up  and  out,  and  bending  his  solid  figure 
this  way  and  that.  Next,  he  alternately  thrust  out  his 
legs.  And  Johnnie  followed  suit — till  both  were  breathless 
and  perspiring. 

"To-morrow,  exercise  first  and  bathe  afterward,"  in- 
structed Mr.  Perkins.  "To-night,  be  sure  to  sleep  with  that 
window  open.  And  now  I'll  give  you  a  lesson  in  saluting." 

It  was  then  that  Grandpa  wakened.  And  perhaps 
something  about  the  lesson  stirred  those  old  memories  of 
his,  for  he  insisted  upon  saluting  too,  and  tossed  poor 
Letitia  aside  in  his  excitement,  and  called  Mr.  Perkins 
"General." 

When  the  latter  was  gone,  with  no  pat  on  the  head  for 
Johnnie,  but  a  genuine  man-to-man  hand  shake,  and  a 
promise  of  his  return  soon,  the  boy,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  short  life,  took  stock  of  the  condition  of  his  own 
body.  Slipping  out  of  the  big  shirt  once  more,  and  bor- 
rowing Cis's  mirror,  he  contrived,  by  skewing  his  head 
around,  chinning  first  one  shoulder,  then  the  other,  to  get 


MR.  PERKINS  169 

a  meager  look  at  his  back.  He  appraised  his  spindling 
arms  and  legs.  He  thumped  his  flat  chest. 

"Gee!  Mister  Perkins  is  dead  right!"  he  admitted  so- 
berly. "I'm  too  skinny,  and  too  thin  through,  and  my 
complexion's  too  good."  In  the  back  of  his  head,  always, 
was  that  dream  of  leaving  the  flat  some  day,  never  to 
return.  "But  like  I  am,  why,  I  couldn't  work  hard  'nough, 
or  earn  good,"  he  told  himself  now,  and  very  earnestly. 
"So  I'll  jus'  go  ahead  and  make  my  body  over  the  way 
Mister  Roosevelt  did." 

While  he  was  doing  his  housework  he  stopped  now  anil 
again  to  shoot  out  an  arm  or  a  leg,  or  to  bend  himself 
from  the  waist.  His  skin  was  tingling  pleasantly.  His 
eyes  were  bright.  A  new  urge  was  upon  him.  A  fresh 
interest  filled  his  heart.  His  hopes  were  high. 

Cis,  when  she  was  told  that  the  leader  had  actually 
called,  not  only  believed  the  statement  but  shared 
Johnnie's  enthusiasm.  Realizing  how  much  his  training 
to  be  a  scout  would  help  him,  she  even  tried  to  do  away 
with  that  certain  objection  of  his.  "Maybe  they  don't 
have  girl  scouts  any  more,"  she  suggested. 

"Aw,  I  don't  care  a  snap  'bout  girl  scouts !"  he  answered. 
"Cis,  he  called  me  'old  fellow' — I  like  it !  And  he's  twenty- 
one.  And  you  just  ought  t'  see  the  shirt  he  wears! — not 
with  little  flowers  on  it,  like  Mike  Callaghan's.  And,  oh, 
Cis,  he  never  even  s'pected  that  I  cook,  or  wash,  or  do 
anything  like  that !  And  while  he  was  here  I  took  a  bath !" 

"No !"  Her  enthusiasm  went.  She  was  horrified.  "Oh, 
Johnnie!  Oh,  my!"  She  grew  pink  and  pale  by  turns. 
"And  you  so  dirty!" 

"Well,  I  did !  What's  the  matter  with  y' !  I  wouldn't 
need  t'  bathe  if  I  wasn't  dirty!" 

"Oh," tears  of  mortification  swam  in  the  violet-blue 

eyes — "but  you  were  extra  dirty!" 


170          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Johnnie,  refusing  to  get 
panic-sticken. 

"I'd  like  to  see  your  bath  water,"  she  persisted.  "Where 
is  it?" 

"Gone  down  the  sink." 

"How  did  it  look !    Pretty  bad?    Dark?    Just  how?" 

"Well,  it  looked  kind  of  riley  if  you  got  under  the  soap 
that  was  floatin'  on  top,"  Johnnie  admitted.  "  'Cause 
I  give  myself  a  dandy  one!  Oh,  a  lot  of  skin  come  off!" 

"Oh,  my!  And  did  he  see  under  the  soap?  And  what 
<3id  you  use  for  a  towel?" 

Johnnie  had  used  a  pillowcase.  "  'Cause  what  else  could 
I  use?"  he  implored. 

But  Cis  did  not  answer,  for  she  was  in  tears.  And  she 
would  not  look  up  even  to  see  him  salute. 

Big  Togi  had  his  turn  at  being  appalled — this  at  the 
supper  table,  when  he  observed  Johnnie's  appetite.  "As 
you  git  bigger,"  pointed  out  Barber,  "you  eat  more  and 
more.  So,  understand  me,  y*  got  t'  make  more — work 
more." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Johnnie,  helping  himself  to  fried  mush 
and  coffee  for  the  third  time,  and  breaking  open  his  second 
baked  potato.  But  to  Cis,  later  on,  he  confided  his  inten- 
tion to  work  no  harder,  yet  to  "stuff."  "I  can't  make 
myself  over  jus'  on  fresh  air,"  he  declared. 

She  warmly  upheld  his  determination.  Yet  she  flatly 
refused  to  take  Mr.  Perkins  shopping  with  them,  pleading 
that  she  felt  ashamed. 

"About  what?"  Johnnie  asked,  irritated.  "About  your 
cryin'?" 

"About  that  bath  you  took,"  she  answered.  "OK, 
gracious !" 

He  was  not  in  the  least  bothered  about  it.  And  when 
the  rest  of  the  household  were  asleep,  he  had  a  splendid 
think  about  himself.  He  was  twenty-one,  and  tall  and 


MR.   PERKINS  171 

strong,  so  that  he  was  able  to  ignore  Big  Tom.  He  was 
well-dressed,  too,  and  did  no  more  girl's  work.  Instead, 
he  was  the  head  and  front  of  some  great,  famous  organ- 
ization which  numbered  among  its  members  all  the  mil- 
lionaires in  New  York.  Just  what  this  organization  was 
all  about,  he  did  not  pause  to  decide.  But  he  had  his 
office  in  a  building  as  large  as  the  Grand  Central  Sta- 
tion, and  was  waited  upon  by  a  man  in  a  car-conductor's 
cap. 

Cis  had  once  peeped  into  the  huge  dining  rooms  of  the 
Waldorf  Astoria,  this  while  walking  along  Fifth  Avenue. 
She  had  described  to  Johnnie  the  lofty,  ornate  ceilings, 
and  the  rich,  heavy  hangings,  which  description  there- 
after had  furnished  him  with  a  basis  whenever  he  trans- 
formed the  kitchen  for  one  of  his  grandest  thinks.  Upon 
his  new  office  he  lavished,  now,  a  silver  ceiling,  ^Ivet  cur- 
tains, a  marble  desk  and  gold  chairs. 

The  thing  finished,  he  rose,  shed  his  clothes,  and, 
standing  on  his  mattress,  white  and  stark  against  the  black 
of  the  stove,  filled  his  lungs  from  the  open  window,  wielded 
his  arms,  bent  his  torso,  and  kicked  up  his  heels. 

In  due  time,  by  faithfully  following  Mr.  Perkins's  in- 
structions, he  would  be  plump,  well-muscled,  red-faced, 
and  rounded  as  to  chest.  Then  in  a  beautiful  uniform 
and  a  broad  hat,  with  his  right  hand  at  salute,  he  would 
burst,  as  it  were,  upon  the  neighborhood — the  perfect 
scout ! 

That  night  the  whole  world  seemed  to  him  khaki-col- 
ored. That  day  marked  the  beginning  of  a  new  Johnnie 
Smith. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  ROOF 

IN  the  morning,  he  was  very  stiff.  When  he  'discovered 
this,  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  was  ill  enough  to  stay 
in  bed,  which  (it  being  Saturday)  would  let  him  out  of 
having  to  do  the  scrubbing.  But  when,  on  second  thought, 
he  consulted  Cis,  he  changed  his  mind,  instantly  scrambled 
up,  put  the  scrubbing  water  on  to  heat,  and  started  break- 
fast. F*r  he  dared  not  allow  Big  Tom  to  know  the  trutH 
about  his  condition.  And  the  truth  was,  he  gathered,  that 
his  stiffness  was  due  to  those  exercises — also  to  the  baleful 
effects  of  the  bath ! 

"Maybe  I  lost  too  much  skin,"  he  suggested.  "Y5  think 
I'm  any  worse  off  for  it,  with  all  that  skin  gone?" 

"Oh,  you  keep  it  up!"  returned  Cis.  "You  won't  be 
stiff  as  soon  as  you've  moved  around  a  little.  And,  oh, 
Johnnie,  don't  ever,  ever,  ever  wait  so  long  before  you 
bathe  again !  I'm  just  sick  about  what  happened  yester- 
day !  I  dreamed  about  it ! — though,  of  course" — catching 
at  a  straw  of  comfort — "it  would've  been  a  lot  worse  if 
He  had  been  here  instead  of  the  scout  man." 

Deep-breathing  and  exercises  regularly  punctuated,  or, 
rather,  regularly  interrupted,  the  morning  program  of 
work.  And  bath  water  took  the  place  of  the  scrubbing 
water  in  the  tub  directly  the  floor  was  mopped  up.  Then 
Johnnie  could  not  deny  himself  the  pleasure  of  showing 
himself  to  Mrs.  Kukor  while  he  still  bore  evidences  of 
his  unwonted,  and  unspotted,  state.  Blowing  and  excited, 

172 


THE  ROOF  173 

and  looking  yellower  than  usual,  he  displayed  his  freshly 
washed  neck,  a  fringe  of  wet  hair,  and  a  pair  of*-soapy 
ears.  "And  ain't  I  shiney  as  a  plate?"  he  demanded. 
"It's  my  second  in  two  days !" 

She  turned  him  round  and  round,  marveling.  "Pos-i- 
tiwle!"  she  declared. 

For  a  very  long  time  Johnnie  had  been  making  a  poinli 
of  skimping  the  Saturday  noon  meal,  this  because  Barber 
came  home  to  eat  it.  Furthermore,  as  hot  biscuits  and 
gravy  made  a  combination  dish  of  which  the  longshore- 
man was  particularly  fond,  Johnnie  had  seen  to  it  that 
hot  biscuits  and  gravy  did  not  appear  on  the  table  except 
rarely.  But  this  Saturday  his  inner  man  was  demanding 
more  food  than  usual.  His  appetite  was  coming  up, 
exactly  as  Mr.  Perkins  had  said  it  would!  So  Johnnie 
set  about  preparing  a  good  dinner.  , 

He  used  a  cup  of  Grandpa's  milk  for  biscuit-dough. 
And  when  the  biscuits — two  dozen  of  them — were  brown- 
ing nicely  in  the  oven,  he  concocted  a  generous  supply  of 
bacon-grease  gravy,  and  set  it  to  boiling  creamily.  There 
were  boiled  potatoes,  too,  and  two  quarts  of  strong  tea. 
Not  only  because  he  was  hungry,  but  also  because  he 
dreaded  to  let  Big  Tom  know  just  how  hungry  he  was, 
Johnnie  ate  half  of  his  dinner  before  the  others  returned. 
At  the  regular  meal,  he  ate  his  ordinary  amount. 

"Gee!  Water  and  air'll  fix  me  all  right!"  he  boasted 
to  Cis.  "Who'd  ever  b'lieve  it !"  He  was  too  happy  even 
to  fret  about  One-Eye. 

"Haven't  I  advised  you  lots  of  times  to  wash  yourself 
all  over?"  she  reminded  him.  "My!  Pd  bathe  if  all  I  had 
to  bathe  in  was  a  teacup !  And  now  I've  a  mind  to  start 
in  on  the  exercises !"  She  was  too  pleased  over  the  change 
in  him  to  bring  up  just  then  the  matter  of  that  first  bath. 

There  was  no  mistake  about  Johnnie's  improving.  Mr. 
Perkins  noted  it  the  moment  he  stepped  through  the  door 


174          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

one  morning  early  in  the  next  week.  He  had  brought  witK 
him  a  quart-bottle  of  delicious,  fresh  milk,  and  Johnnie 
Idrank  it,  slowly,  cup  by  cup,  as  they  talked.  What  had 
helped  most,  Mr.  Perkins  declared,  was  the  open  window 
at  night,  the  fresh  air.  And  Johnnie  must  have  even  more 
fresh  air. 

"But  how're  we  going  to  manage  it?"  Mr.  Perkins 
wanted  to  know.  "Because  you  can't  very  well  go  out 
for  long  walks  and  leave  Grandpa  alone" — which  showed 
that  Mr.  Perkins  felt  as  One-Eye  did  about  it.  "If  there 
was  a  fire,  say,  what  could  the  poor,  old,  helpless  man  do  ?" 

"I  never  thought  of  that !"  admitted  Johnnie.  "But" 
— with  clear  logic — "when  Big  Tom's  home,  and  Grandpa's 
safe's  anything,  why,  even  then  I  ain't  ever  'lowed  to  go 
for  a  walk.  Big  Tom  and  Mustapha,  they're  both  against 
me  and  Aladdin  playin'  in  the  street." 

"What  about  the  roof?"  asked  Mr.  Perkins. 

Strangely  enough,  Johnnie  had  never  thought  of  that, 
either.  "But  Aunt  Sophie  wouldn't  'low  me  to  go  up  on 
her  roof,"  he  remembered.  "And  I  don't  b'lieve  the  jan'- 
tress  would  on  this  one." 

He  was  right.  Though  Mr.  Perkins  called  personally 
upon  that  lady,  and  laid  before  her  the  question  of 
Johnnie's  health,  she  was  adamantine  in  her  refusal.  Even 
the  sight  of  a  two-dollar  bill  could  not  sway  her,  offered, 
as  Mr.  Perkins  explained,  not  in  the  hope  of  bribing  her 
to  do  anything  that  was  forbidden,  but  as  pay  in  case 
Johnnie  proved  to  be  any  trouble ;  for  she  had  explained, 
"Kids  is  fierce  for  t'rowin'  trash  'round,  and  I  can't  swip 
the  roof  onnly  once  a  year." 

Mr.  Perkins  was  keenly  disappointed.  But  he  tried 
to  make  light  of  their  set-back,  and  distracted  Johnnie's 
thoughts  from  the  roof  by  producing  two  wonderful  pres- 
ents. One  was  an  unframed  picture  of  Colonel  Theodore 
Roosevelt,  looking  splendid  and  soldierlike  in  a  uniform 


THE  ROOF  175 

and  a  broad  hat  turned  up  at  one  side,  and  a  sword  that 
hung  from  his  belt.    The  second  gift  was  a  toothbrush. 

Johnnie  pinned  the  picture  above  Cis's  dressing-table 
box  in  the  tiny  room.  The  toothbrush  (it  had  a  handle 
of  pure  ivory!),  he  slipped  inside  his  shirt.  Mr.  Perkins 
suggested  delicately  that,  when  it  came  to  the  care  of 
the  teeth,  there  was  no  time  like  the  present.  But  Johnnie 
begged  for  delay.  "I  want  Cis  t'  see  it  while  it's  so  nice 
and  new,"  he  argued,  " — before  it's  all  wet  and  spoiled." 
Cis  was  fairly  enraptured  when  he  showed  her  the 
brush.  "Oh,  I've  been  wanting  to  own  a  good  one  for 
years!"  she  cried;  "and  not  just  the  ten-cent-store  kind! 
Oh,  Johnnie — !"  She  tipped  her  sleek  head  to  one  side 
entreatingly. 

Johnnie  had  foreseen  all  this.     He  bargained  with  her. 
"I'll  swop  y'  the  brush,"  he  declared. 

"Swop  for  what? — Oh,  Johnnie!     Oh,  isn't  it  sweet!" 
Grandpa  was  in  the  room.     Johnnie  raised  on  his  toes 
to  whisper:  "For  you  not  t'  tell  Mister  Perkins  n'r  any- 
body else  when  I  sneak  up  on  the  roofs  of  nights." 

"You  wouldn't  lean  over  the  edge,   Johnnie,   and  go 
all  dizzy,  and  fall?" — the  brush  was  a  sore  temptation. 

Johnnie  belittled  her  fears.     "Couldn't  I  jus'  as  easy 
fall  out  of  our  window?"  he  demanded. 

The  bargain  was  struck;  the  brush  changed  hands. 
In  the  face  of  those  two  gifts,  Cis  could  never  again 
doubt  the  existence  of  a  real  Mr.  Perkins.    "I  didn't  care 
awfully  whether  he  was  a  truly  person  or  not,"  she  con- 
fided to  Johnnie  now.    "But  as  long  as  he  is  alive,  I  think 
I'd  like  to  meet  him.     So  the  next  time  he  comes,  you  get 
him  to  come  the  time  after  that  between  twelve  and  one, 
and  I'll  run  home.    I  can  eat  my  lunch  while  I'm  walking." 
Johnnie  considered  the  suggestion.     "You  won't  give 
'way  on  me  'bout  the  swop,  though." 
"Cross  my  heart!" 


176          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

After  she  had  used  the  brush  (thoroughly,  too),  and 
could  not,  therefore,  retreat  out  of  her  bargain,  he  offered 
an  argument  which  he  felt  sure  would  clinch  her  silence. 
"You  wouldn't  want  Mister  Perkins  t'  find  out  that  y* 
didn't  have  a  good  brush  of  your  own,"  he  reminded  her, 
"and  that  y'  took  mine  away." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't !" — fervently.  Then,  recalling  how  she 
had  already  been  mortified  in  the  matter  of  his  first  bath, 
and  returning,  girl-like,  to  that  worn-out  subject,  "John- 
nie, are  you  positive  Mr.  Perkins  didn't  see  you  empty 
the  tub  that  day?  and  did  he  see  the  bottom  of  it  when 
the  water  was  all  out?  and  in  the  bottom  wasn't  there  a 
lot  of  grit?" 

He  reassured  her.  "But,  my  goodness,  Cis,  you're 
terrible  stuck-up,"  he  declared. 

Certainly  she  felt  more  comfortable.  For  at  once,  with 
a  haughty  and  precise  air,  which  was  her  idea  of  how  the 
socially  elect  bear  themselves,  with  a  set  smile  on  her 
quaint  face,  and  modulating  her  voice  affectedly,  she  took 
Mr.  Perkins's  arm  and  went  for  a  walk  around  Seward 
Park  (the  table),  discussing  the  weather  as  she  strolled, 
the  scenery,  and  other  impersonal  subjects.  And  there 
was  much  bowing  and  hand  shaking  to  it  all,  while  Johnnie 
stood  by,  scarcely  knowing  whether  to  be  pleased  or  cross. 

"When  you  come  home,  and  Mister  Perkins  is  here, 
what'll  I  say?"  he  asked;  "—just  at  first?" 

"You  introduce  us,"  instructed  Cis.  "You  tell  him  what 
my  name  is,  and  you  tell  me  what  his  name  is." 

"But  you  know  his  name!"  argued  Johnnie.  "And 
he  knows  yours." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  she  returned.  "It  sounds  silly,  but 
everybody  does  it  that  way,  and  so  you  must,  or  he'll 
think  you're  funny." 

"Well,  all  right."     It  was  important  that  Mr.  Perkins 


THE  ROOF  177 

sHould  not  think  him  funny,  lest  that  invitation  to  become 
a  scout  be  withdrawn. 

That  night,  so  soon  as  Big  Tom  was  asleep,  Johnnie 
made  his  first  trip  to  the  roof ;  and  understood,  the  moment 
he  emerged  from  the  little  house  which  was  built  over  the 
top  of  the  stairs,  why  Mr.  Perkins  had  recommended  it 
as  being  more  desirable  than  the  street.  Of  course  it  was ! 
The  confinement  of  the  past  week  or  more  helped  to 
emphasize  its  good  points.  Ah,  this  was  a  place  to 
breathe !  to  exercise !  Above  all,  what  a  place  from  which 
to  see !  With  the  night  wind  in  his  hair,  and  swelling  the 
big  shirt,  Johnnie  stood,  high  and  lonely,  like  Crusoe  on 
his  island,  looking  up  and  around,  enchanted. 

How  much  sky  there  was! — joined  to  his  own  square. 
The  clouds,  enormous  and  beautiful,  had  plenty  of  space 
in  which  to  drift  about,  by  turns  hiding  and  uncovering 
the  stars.  Lifted  almost  into  those  clouds  were  the  spars 
of  ships,  the  tallest  of  the  city's  buildings,  the  black  lace- 
work  of  two  bridges.  Oh,  how  big,  how  strange — yes,  and 
even  how  far  removed — seemed  this  New  York  of  the 
night ! 

When  he  could  say  good-by  to  the  flat  for  the  last  time, 
could  leave  it  behind  him  forever,  oh,  how  many  sights 
there  would  be  for  him  to  see  in  this  great  city !  "I'll 
just  go  and  go!"  he  promised  himself.  "In  ev'ry  direc- 
tion !  And  look  and  look  and  look !"  Going  had  brought 
him  One-Eye's  friendship,  and  Mr.  Perkins's.  Somewhere 
in  all  those  miles  of  roofs  were  other  friends,  just  waiting 
to  be  found. 

The  cold  in  the  night  wind  cut  short  his  reflections.  He 
fell  to  exercising,  and  drinking  in  big  draughts  of  the  sea 
air;  then  hastened  down  on  soft  foot  to  his  bed.  Cis  was 
waiting  in  her  door  to  see  him  come,  and  he  knew  she  had 
been  anxious,  and  thoroughly  resented  it. 

"I  didn't  hurt  the  old  roof,"  he  whispered.     But  he  felt 


178          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

very  happy,  in  spite  of  his  irritation,  and  genuinely  sorry 
for  any  boy  who  did  not  have  a  roof. 

Every  morning  now  he  enjoyed  his  splash  in  the  tub; 
every  night  he  glorified  in  his  taste  of  the  real  outdoors. 
On  the  following  Sunday,  he  combined  the  two  pleasures. 
Big  Tom  was  in  and  out  all  day,  making  it  impossible  for 
Johnnie  to  bathe  even  in  the  seclusion  of  Cis's  tiny  room, 
which  she  generously  offered  to  loan  him  for  the  cere- 
mony. He  did  not  accept  her  offer.  He  was  as  sure  as 
ever  that  Barber  would  not  only  put  a  stop  to  all  baths 
if  he  discovered  they  were  being  taken  (on  the  ground 
that  they  used  up  too  much  soap),  but  the  longshoreman 
might  go  further,  and  administer  punishment  which  would 
be  particularly  trying — with  Johnnie  in  a  clothesless  con- 
dition. 

He  waited  for  nightfall.  The  day  was  unseasonably 
warm.  Joy  sundown  the  patch  of  sky  framed  by  the  win- 
dow was  solidly  overlaid  with  clouds,  among  which  the 
thunder  was  rolling.  A  shower  was  brewing,  and  Johnnie 
had  an  idea.  He  took  the  soap  and  a  wash  rag  to  bed 
with  him. 

The  others  were  asleep  when  the  storm  broke.  But 
Johnnie  was  just  inside  the  little  house  on  the  roof,  shed- 
ding his  clothes  under  cover.  As  the  rain  came  lashing 
upon  the  warm,  painted  tin,  he  rushed  forth  into  it,  letting 
it  whip  his  bare  skin  as  he  soaped  and  rubbed. 

It  was  glorious !  And  though  he  dared  not  shout,  he 
leaped  hither  and  thither  in  an  excess  of  joy,  and  did  his 
calisthenics,  the  lightning  flashing  him  into  his  own  sight. 
And  he  took  in  from  the  rain,  through  tossing  arms  and 
legs,  the  electricity  that  he  lacked — cut  off  as  he  had  been 
so  long  from  even  the  touch  of  a  pavement. 

Next,  naked  though  he  was,  he  played  scout;  and  as 
he  romped  other  scouts  came  to  romp  with  him,  dropping 
over  the  edge  of  the  roof  in  all  directions,  or  popping 


THE  ROOF  179 

out  from  behind  the  chimney  and  the  little  house.  And 
all  were  as  naked  as  he,  and  as  full  of  joy,  and  they 
danced  in  a  circle  with  him,  and  marched,  and  went 
through  the  exercises. 

When  at  last  his  yellow  hair  was  streaming,  and  his 
breath  was  spent,  he  dried  himself,  standing  on  the  stairs, 
and  using  the  long  tails  of  the  big  shirt ;  then,  trousered 
once  more,  he  crept  down  and  in,  to  sleep  an  unbroken, 
dreamless  sleep,  wrapped  from  head  to  toe  in  just  nothing 
but  his  quilt.  Only  his  small  unfreclded  nose  showed, 
drawing  in  the  rain-washed  breeze  that  came  swirling  upon 
his  bed  through  the  open  window. 

"It's  my  beach !"  he  told  Cis  proudly  the  next  morning. 
"I  waded — honest,  I  did !  And  I  pretty  near  swimmed!" 
He  felt  stronger,  and  consequently  did  not  hate  his 
housework  so  much.  As  for  his  appearance,  Mr.  Perkins 
was  more  than  ever  struck  with  its  improvement  when  he 
saw  Johnnie  again;  also,  the  leader  was  a  trifle  puzzled. 
But  other  things  than  breathing  and  bathing  and  exer- 
cises were  helping  Johnnie.  He  had  something  to  look 
forward  to  now — a  goal.  Indeed,  the  greater  part  of  his 
betterment  was  the  result  of  that  fresh  interest  Mr. 
Perkins  had  given  him,  his  pride,  and  his  hope. 

"But  I'd  like  t'  learn  more  things  'bout  scouts,"  he 
told  the  leader.  "Is  all  I  have  t'  do  jus'  git  strong  and 
grow  t'  be  twelve?" 

"Steady,  old  man!"  counseled  Mr.  Perkins. 
He  failed  to  see,  he  said,  that  Johnnie's  teeth  looked 
any  whiter.  He  acted  almost  as  if  he  doubted  Johnnie's 
use  of  the  brush.  Luckily  Johnnie  remembered  that  meet- 
ing which  Cis  had  proposed,  and  this  served  to  change  the 
subject.  By  advice  from  Cis,  later  on,  he  was  insured 
against  Mr.  Perkins's  being  so  disappointed  again.  Cis 
gave  him  some  powder;  and  he  got  fair  results  from  her 
old  brush. 


180          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

So  far  as  he  was  concerned,  the  meeting  between  Cis 
and  Mr.  Perkins  proved  utterly  profitless.  To  begin  with, 
in  his  pride  and  excitement,  he  forgot  to  follow  out  her 
instructions  regarding  the  introduction.  Instead  of  pro- 
nouncing the  two  names  politely,  he  ran  to  Cis,  and  "Here 
he  is !"  he  cried.  "This  is  him !  Mister  Perkins  !" 

She  stood  against  the  hall  door,  smiling  shyly.  Mr. 
Perkins  rose,  looking  more  red  than  brown,  and  gave  her 
a  soldierly  bow,  though  that  day  he  was  not  wearing  a 
uniform,  but  a  gray  business  suit. 

"I'm  so  glad  to  meet  you,"  he  said.  "Johnnie's  told 
me  so  much  about  you." 

"I — I've  got  to  go  right  back,"  was  what  she  said. 
"Two  of  the  girls  're  waiting  for  me  downstairs.'* 

"Aw,  Cis!"  pleaded  Johnnie.  "Wait!  Ain't  y'  goin' 
t'  exercise  with  us  ?" 

She  went.  And  though  she  darted  a  smile  at  their  visi- 
tor, to  Johnnie  she  seemed  all  indifference,  and  he  was 
staggered  by  it;  only  to  be  more  than  gratified  by  her 
complete  change  of  attitude  when  she  got  home  at  supper- 
time.  "Oh,  he's  handsome!"  she  declared.  "My!  The 
girls  wouldn't  believe  how  noble  and  splendid  he  is !  He 
just  can't  be  as  young  as  you  say,  Johnnie,  because  he's 
been  a  soldier  in  the  big  war!  I  know  it  by  that  little 
button-thing  in  his  coat!  Oh,  Johnnie,  he's  nicer  than 
you  said !  Thousands  and  thousands  of  times  !" 

Johnnie  swaggered  a  bit  over  that.  "All  my  friends  is 
nice,"  he  observed.  "Only  I  wish  I  could  have  One-Eye 
and  Mr.  Perkins  here  both  at  the  same  time !" 

He  had  to  give  a  minute  account  of  Mr.  Perkins's  visit, 
and  not  once,  but  as  often  as  he  could  manage  to  go  over 
the  subject  before  Big  Tom  came  in.  After  supper,  as 
they  hung  in  the  window  together,  looking  up  at  the  night 
sky,  he  had  to  review  all  previous  visits,  as  well  as  that 
memorable,  history-making  meeting  under  the  Elevated. 


THE  ROOF  181 

"He's  like  a  young  gentleman  in  a  story !"  she  whispered. 
"And  he's  awful  stylish!  Did  you  notice? — his  handker- 
chief to-day  had  a  teeny  brown  edge  to  it!" 

In  the  morning,  she  did  an  unprecedented  thing:  rose 
earlier  than  usual  and  helped  Johnnie  set  the  flat  to  rights. 
The  dish  cupboard  came  in  for  the  most  of  her  attention, 
a  fact  which!  brought  loud  protests  from  him,  for  she 
used  up  the  whole  of  Mr.  Maloney's  precious  newspapers, 
this  in  making  fancifully  cut  covers  for  the  shelves. 

"Oh,  let's  look  civilized!"  she  cried. 

She  came  home  at  noon,  her  girl  friends  accompanying 
her,  but  waiting,  as  before,  in  the  area.  She  was  not  so 
shy  as  she  had  been  the  first  day ;  instead,  she  was  digni- 
fied as  she  viewed  the  arm-  and  leg-work,  praised  Johnnie 
with  sweet  condescension,  and  thanked  Mr.  Perkins  for 
all  his  trouble  with  quite  a  grown-up  air. 

The  noon  following,  she  arrived  alone  (Mr.  Perkins  had 
remarked  the  day  previous  that  he  would  be  coming  regu- 
larly now) .  As  he  had  appeared  early,  and  the  exercising 
was  over  and  done,  he  and  Cis  went  down  the  stairs  to- 
gether. Johnnie  stood  outside  the  door  to  watch  them, 
and  marveled  as  he  watched.  When  had  he  ever  seen  Cis 
smile  so  much?  chatter  so  freely?  Now  she  did  not  seem 
afraid  of  Mr.  Perkins  at  all! 

In  the  hall  overhead  some  one  else  was  watching — Mrs. 
Kukor.  As  he  looked  up,  she  nodded  at  him.  "Ah-ha-a- 
a-a!"  she  whispered,  and  laid  one  finger  along  her  nose 
mysteriously.  Johnnie  understood  that  she  was  thinking 
of  Big  Tom.  He  nodded  back,  and  put  a  finger  to  his  lips. 

All  that  afternoon  he  was  so  proud,  just  thinking  of  Cis 
threading  the  crowds  with  Mr.  Perkins  at  her  side.  Yet 
she  herself  was  evidently  not  impressed  by  the  great  com- 
pliment the  leader  had  paid  her.  For  the  next  day  she 
did  not  invite  a  similar  experience  by  coming  home  at 
noon ;  nor  the  next.  In  fact,  she  never  again  dropped  in 


182          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

to  see  the  drill.  She  had  lost  interest  in  it,  she  told 
Johnnie — which  was  natural  enough,  seeing  that  she  was 
a  girl. 

But!       She   seemed  also   to   have   completely  lost   all 
interest  in  Mr.  Perkins! 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  DIFFERENT  CIS 

BUT    for    some    reason    which    Johnnie    could    not 
fathom,  Cis  suddenly  began  to  show  a  great  deal 
of  interest  in  the  flat.     Indeed,  she  was  by  way 
of  making  his  life  miserable,  what  with  her  constant  warn- 
ings and  instructions  about  keeping  the  rooms  neat  and 
clean.     And  she  proved  that  her  concern  was  genuine  by 
continuing  to  rise  early  each  day  in  order  to  help  him 
with  the  housework. 

In  her  own  tiny  closet  she  brought  about  a  really 
magnificent  improvement.  This  took  place  mainly  on 
Decoration  Day,  a  day  which,  just  because  of  its  name, 
Johnnie  regarded  as  particularly  suitable  for  the  happy 
task  in  hand.  Cis's  ceiling  and  walls  had  never  been 
papered  (she  explained  this  by  pointing  out  that  paper 
would  only  have  made  the  little  cubby-hole  just  that  much 
smaller,  and  there  was  not  even  a  mite  of  room  to  spare). 
By  dint  of  extra  violet-making,  she  bought  a  can  of  paint 
and  a  brush.  Then  borrowing  a  ladder  from  the  janitress, 
she  first  cleared  her  bedroom  of  its  contents,  and  next 
wiped  every  inch  of  plaster — sides  and  top — by  means 
of  a  rag  tied  over  the  end  of  the  broom.  After  that,  in 
her  oldest  dress,  with  her  head  wrapped  up,  she  tinted  her 
retreat,  the  mop-boards  included,  a  delicate  blue. 

Now,  however,  she  was  far  from  done.  The  paint  dry, 
she  restored  her  two  pieces  of  furniture  to  their  rightful 
places.  The  dressing-table  box  she  skirted  with  cheese- 

183 


184          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

cloth  dipped  in  blued  starch ;  and  covered  the  top  of  it  with 
a  roll  of  crinkly,  flower-sprinkled  tissue  paper.  To  the 
general  effect,  her  cretonne-encased  pillow  gave  the  final 
touch.  It  was  Johnnie's  opinion  that  the  pillow  was  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  things  in  New  York.  When  it 
was  stood  up  stiffly  against  the  wall  at  the  end  of  the 
narrow  bed  shelf;  when  the  picture  of  Colonel  Roosevelt 
was  again  in  its  place  of  honor  beside  the  bit  of  mirror, 
with  the  handsome  Edwarda  leaned  negligently  just 
beneath ;  and  when  Cis  had  lavished  upon  her  bed  and  box 
the  delicious  scent  of  a  whole  nickel's-worth  of  orris  root, 
Johnnie,  wildly  enthused,  signaled  the  flat  above. 

"I'll  bet  there  ain't  any  room  that's  nicer'n  this  in  the 
whole  Waldorf  'Storia !"  he  vowed  to  the  little  Jewish  lady 
when  she  came  rocking  down  to  marvel  over  the  trans- 
formation, hands  uplifted,  head  wagging.  "Don't  you 
think  it  s  fine,  Mrs.  Kukor?  and  don't  it  smell  'zac'ly  like 
Mrs.  Reisenberger?" 

"Pos-i-tiwle !"  agreed  Mrs.  Kukor. 

Next,  in  her  housewifely  zeal,  Cis  started  in  to  improve 
the  kitchen.  Keeping  the  ladder  an  extra  day  by  special 
permission  she  climbed  it  to  wash  the  eight  small  panes 
of  the  window,  after  which  she  hung  at  either  side  of  them 
a  strip  of  the  blue-tinted  cheesecloth.  But  when  Barber 
saw  the  curtains,  he  called  them  "tomfoolery,"  and  tore 
them  down.  So  nothing  happened  to  the  rest  of  the  flat. 

That  rebuke  of  Barber's  seemed  to  deflect  Cis's  interest 
from  the  rooms  to  herself.  For  now  upon  her  own  person 
she  wrought  improvements.  These  did  not  escape  Johnnie, 
who  accepted  them  as  a  part  of  the  general  upheaval — an 
upheaval  which  she  informed  him  was  "Spring  cleaning." 
Each  night  before  retiring  she  pressed  her  one  dress,  and 
freshened  its  washable  collar;  she  also  brushed  her  hair 
a  full  hundred  times,  conscientously  counting  the  strokes. 
'As  for  her  teeth,  Johnnie  warned  her  that  she  would  wear 


A  DIFFERENT   CIS  185 

out  both  them  and  the  ivory-handled  brush  in  no  time, 
since,  night  and  morning,  she  used  the  brush  tirelessly. 
Also  she  wasted  valuable  hours  (in  his  opinion)  by  mani- 
curing her  fingernails  when  she  might  better  have  been 
threading  a  kitchen  jungle  all  beast-infested. 

Next,  another,  and  the  most  startling  change  in  her. 
She  came  out  of  her  blue  room  one  morning  looking  very 
tall,  and  odd.  At  first  Johnnie  did  not  see  what  was 
wrong,  and  stared,  puzzled  and  bewildered. 

But  Barber  saw.  "What's  the  idea?"  he  wanted  to 
know,  and  none  too  pleasantly. 

"I'm  almost  seventeen,"  Cis  answered. 

Almost  seventeen!  Johnnie  looked  at  her  closer,  and 
discovered  the  thing  that  made  her  different.  It  was  her 
hair.  Usually  she  wore  it  braided,  and  tied  at  the  nape  of 
her  neck.  But  now  that  shining  braid  was  pinned  in  a 
coil  on  the  back  of  her  head! 

"¥'  look  foolish!"  went  on  Barber.  "And  y»  can't 
waste  any  more  money  'round  here,  buyin'  pins  and  combs 
and  such  stuff.  Y'  can  jus'  wear  it  down  your  back  for 
another  year  or  so." 

"All  the  other  girls  have  their  hair  up,"  she  argued. 
"And  I've  got  to  have  mine  out  of  the  way." 

She  did  not  take  that  coil  down.  Yet  she  was  by  no 
means  indifferent  to  the  attitude  of  Big  Tom.  Johnnie, 
who  understood  so  well  her  every  expression,  noticed  how, 
when  the  longshoreman  sometimes  entered  unexpectedly, 
Cis  would  go  whiter  than  usual,  as  if  frightened;  she 
would  start  at  the  mere  sound  of  his  voice,  and  drop 
whatever  happened  to  be  in  her  hand. 

When  Big  Tom  was  out  she  would  walk  about  aimlessly 
and  restlessly:  would  halt  absentmindedly  with  her  face 
to  a  wall  and  not  seem  to  see  it.  She  did  not  want  to 
talk;  she  preferred  to  be  let  completely  alone.  She  was 
irritable,  or  she  sighed  a  good  deal.  She  took  to  watching 


186         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

the  clock,  and  wishing  it  were  to-morrow  morning.  An3 
if,  giving  in  to  Johnnie's  entreaties,  she  consented  to  take 
part  in  a  think,  all  she  cared  to  do  was  bury  the  unhappy 
Cora,  or  watch  lovely,  and  love-smitten,  Elaine  breathe 
her  last. 

At  other  times  she  laughed  as  she  had  never  laughed 
before  in  all  the  five  years  or  more  that  Johnnie  had  lived 
in  the  Barber  flat;  and  broke  out  in  jolly  choruses.  If 
Big  Tom  came  in,  she  did  not  stop  singing  until  he  bade 
her  to,  and  the  moment  he  was  gone,  she  was  at  it  again, 
with  a  few  dance  steps  thrown  in,  the  blue  eyes  sparkling 
mischievously,  and  dimples  showing  in  cheeks  that  were 
pink. 

She  also  had  dreamy  spells;  and  if  left  undisturbed 
would  sit  at  the  window  by  the  hour,  her  eyes  on  the  sky, 
her  slender  hands  clasped,  a  smile,  sweet  and  gentle,  fixing 
her  young  mouth.  And  Johnnie  knew  by  that  smile  that 
she  was  thinking  thinks — that  the  kitchen  was  occupied  by 
people  whom  he  did  not  see.  He  guessed  that  one  of  these 
was  of  Royal  blood ;  and  came  to  harbor  hostile  thoughts 
toward  a  certain  young  Prince,  since  never  before  had 
Cis  failed  to  share  her  visions  with  Johnnie.  For  the 
first  time  he  found  himself  shut  out. 

Once  he  caught  her  talking  out  loud.  "I  wish,"  she 
murmured,  "I  wish,  I  wish — " 

"Who're  you  talkin'  to?"  he  asked. 

She  started,  and  blushed.  "Why — why,  I'm  talking  to 
you,"  she  declared. 

"Well,  then,  what  is  it  y'  wish?"  he  persisted.  "Go 
ahead.  I'm  listenin'." 

But  it  had  slipped  her  mind,  she  said  crossly.  Yet 
the  next  moment,  in  an  excess  of  regret  and  affection, 
"Oh,  Johnnie,  you're  so  dear!  So  dear!"  she  told  him, 
and  gave  him  a  good  hug. 

He  worried  about  her  not  a  little  those  days ;  and  though 


A  DIFFERENT   CIS  187 

from  a  natural  delicacy  he  did  not  discuss  her  with  Mr. 
Perkins,  he  did  ask  the  leader  an  anxious  question :  "Could 
a  girl  be  hurt  by  pinnin'  a  hot  wad  of  braid  right  against 
the  back  of  her  brain?" 

Mr.  Perkins  looked  surprised.  "They  all  do  it,"  he 
pointed  out.  (Evidently  he  did  not  surmise  whom  Johnnie 
had  in  mind.) 

"But  s'pose  a  girl  ain't  used  to  it,"  pressed  Johnnie. 

"They  get  used  to  it,"  assured  Mr.  Perkins. 

But  Cis  got  worse  and  worse.  One  day  soon  after  this, 
Johnnie  came  upon  Edwarda,  face  down  on  the  blue-room 
floor,  and  in  a  harrowing  state  of  dishevelment — Edwarda, 
the  costly,  the  precious,  the  not-to-be-touched!  And 
when,  on  Cis's  return,  he  tested  her  affection  for  the  new 
doll  by  swinging  it  unceremoniously  by  one  leg  in  Letitia 
fashion,  "Don't  break  her,"  Cis  cautioned  indifferently; 
"because  I'm  going  to  give  her  away  one  of  these  days  to 
some  poor  little  girl." 

He  gasped.    She  was  going  to  give  away  His  namesake! 

Then  his  eyes  were  opened,  and  he  found  out  the  whole 
sad  truth — this  one  Sunday  afternoon.  Big  Tom  was 
out,  and  Cis  was  more  restless  than  usual.  She  would  not 
hunt  in  goat  skins  with  Johnnie  and  Crusoe,  nor  capture 
the  drifting  Hispaniola  along  with  Jim  Hawkins.  She 
had  no  taste  even  for  a  lively  massacre.  And  as  Johnnie 
was  equally  determined  neither  to  bury  Cora  again  nor 
float  upon  a  death  barge  with  the  Maid  of  Astolat,  they 
compromised  upon  Aladdin  and  the  Princess  Buddir  al 
Buddoor. 

The  occasion  selected  was  that  certain  momentous 
visit  to  the  bath,  with  Aladdin  and  Johnnie  placed  behind 
a  door  in  order  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  royal  lady's  face 
as  she  came  by.  Cis  was  in  attendance  upon  the  Princess, 
the  dismantled  blue  cotton  curtains  trailing  grandly  behind 
her  and  getting  trodden  upon  by  the  Grand  Vizier  (in  a 


188          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

wheel  chair).  A  great  crowd  of  ladies  and  slaves  sur- 
rounded these  celebrities  as  they  wound  through  silent 
streets,  between  shops  filled  with  silks  and  jewels  and  lus- 
cious fruits.  The  air  was  heavy  with  perfume.  David, 
Goliath  and  Buckle  bore  aloft  palms  with  which  they 
stirred  this  scented  breeze.  Going  on  before,  were  the 
four  millionaires,  likewise  a  band  dispensing  music 

It  happened — even  as  the  Princess  lifted  the  mist  of  her 
veil  to  display  her  sweet,  pale  beauty.  Cis  came  short 
unexpectedly.  A  strange,  sorrowful,  and  almost  fright- 
ened look  was  in  her  blue  eyes.  She  held  out  helpless, 
trembling  hands  to  Johnnie.  "Oh,  what's  the  use  of  my 
trying  to  pretend?"  she  cried.  "Johnnie,  I  can't  see  them 
any  more !  I  can't  see  them !  I  can't  see  them !" 

Then,  a  burst  of  weeping.  Old  Grandpa  also  began  to 
weep.  ^\.t  that  Cis  stumbled  toward  the  door  of  her  room, 
colliding  on  the  way  with  the  end  of  the  cookstove,  since 
one  slender  arm  was  across  her  eyes,  and  shut  herself 
from  sight.  For  some  minutes  after  that  the  sound  of 
her  muffled  sobbing  came  from  that  closet  over  which  she 
had  so  recently  been  proudly  happy. 

Johnnie  first  quieted  the  little  old  soldier  by  rolling  him 
to  anrj  fro  between  Albany  and  Pittsburgh.  Then  he 
went  to  stand  at  Cis's  door,  where  he  listened,  his  head 
bent,  his  heart  full  of  tender  concern.  Very  wisely  he 
said  nothing,  asked  no  questions.  It  was  not  till  the  sob- 
bing ceased  that  he  strove  to  comfort  her  by  his  loving, 
awkward,  boyish  attentions. 

"Cis,  can't  I  fetch  y*  a  cup  of  nice,  sugared  cold  tea?" 
he  called  in.  "  'R  a  saucer  with  some  hot  beans?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  quavered. 

Now  he  knew  what  had  brought  about  all  those  differ- 
ences in  her ;  he  understood  what  her  grief  was  about.  It 
was  indeed  the  hair.  Yet  the  hair  was  only  an  outward 


A   DIFFERENT   CIS  189 

sign  of  the  hidden  tragedy — which  was  that,  for  good  and 
all,  for  ever  and  ever,  she  was  to  be  shut  out  from  all 
wonderful,  living,  thrilling  thinks. 

"She's  gittin'  grown-up,"  he  told  himself  sorrowfully. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  HANDBOOK 

OUT  of  a  hip-pocket  one  morning  Mr.  Perkins  pro- 
duced a  book — a  small,  limp,  gray-colored  volume 
upon   the   cover   of  which  were  two  bare-kneed 
boy  scouts,  one  of  whom  was  waving  a  pair  of  flags. 
Also  on  that  cover,  near  its  top,  were  the  words,  Boy 
Scouts  of  America.     "I  wonder  if  you  wouldn't  like  to 
look  through  this,"  he  observed. 

"Oh,  gee !"  Up  from  the  sagging  neckband  of  the  big 
shirt  swept  the  red  of  joy,  and  out  leaped  Johnnie's 
hands.  "Does  this  tell  all  'bout  'em,  Mister  Perkins? 
And,  my  goodness,  don't  I  wish  you  could  leave  it  here 
over  night!"  For  some  time  he  had  been  feeling  that 
there  was  a  lack  of  variety  in  his  long  program  of  pre- 
paration to  be  a  scout ;  but  here  was  something  more  defin- 
ite than  just  the  taking  of  a  bath  or  the  regular  working 
of  his  muscles. 

"I'm  giving  it  to  you,"  explained  Mr.  Perkins. 

"Oh!"  Johnnie  pinched  the  gray  book  hard.  "It's 
my  own?  Aw,  thank  y'!  And  ain't  I  lucky,  though! 
This  is  seven  I  got  now,  countin'  the  d'rect'ry !  And  I'll 
learn  ev'ry  word  in  this  one,  Mister  Perkins !" 

To  emphasize  this  determination  to  be  thorough,  be- 
fore they  started  to  look  through  the  handbook  he  had  to 
know  all  there  was  to  tell  about  the  picture  on  the  front 
cover.  " What's  this  one  kid  standin' on?"  he  asked.  "And 
what's  the  scraggly  thing  behind  him?  And  what's  the 

190 


THE  HANDBOOK  191 

other  boy  holdin*  against  his  eyes?  And  what  country  do 
the  flags  belong  t'?" 

When  at  last  Mr.  Perkins  began  to  turn  the  pages,  he 
went  too  fast  to  suit  Johnnie,  who  was  anxious  not  to  pass 
over  any  scrap  of  scout  knowledge,  hated  to  skip  even  a 
sentence,  and  wanted  full  time  on  each  engrossing  picture. 
iThey  touched  on  the  aim  of  the  scout  movement,  the  knowl- 
edge all  scouts  should  have,  their  daily  good  turns  (an 
interesting  subject!),  their  characteristics,  how  troops 
are  formed  and  led,  the  scout  oath,  and  the  laws.  This 
brought  them  to  merit  badges,  which  proved  so  attractive 
a  topic,  yet  discouraged  Johnnie  so  sadly  at  the  first,  that 
they  got  no  farther. 

Johnnie  was  cast  down  because,  on  looking  into  the 
badge  question,  he  believed  he  could  never  qualify  for  merit 
in  any  particular  line.  For  certainly  he  knew  nothing 
about  Agriculture,  or  Angling,  Archery,  Architecture, 
Art,  Astronomy,  Athletics,  Automobiling,  or  Aviation. 
"And  so  I  don't  see  how  I'll  ever  be  a  merit-badger,"  he 
told  Mr.  Perkins  wistfully,  when  he  had  gone  through  the 
list  of  the  A's. 

Sometimes  of  late,  in  Johnnie's  opinion,  the  scout  leader 
had  seemed  to  be  as  abscntminded  as  Cis ;  and  now  he  was 
evidently  not  thinking  of  the  matter  in  hand,  for  he  asked 
a  question  which  appeared  to  have  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  merit  badges.  Also,  it  was  a  most  embarrassing  ques- 
tion, since  it  concerned  a  fact  which  Johnnie  had  been 
careful,  all  these  past  weeks,  to  suppress.  "Can  you 
cook?"  he  inquired. 

For  a  moment  Johnnie  did  not  answer,  being  divided 
in  his  mind  as  to  what  to  say,  but  sat,  his  very  breath  sus- 
pended, searching  a  way  out  of  his  dilemma.  Then  he 
remembered  the  laws  Mr.  Perkins  had  just  read  to  him — 
in  particular  he  remembered  one  which  deplored  the  tell- 
ing of  lies.  He  understood  that  he  must  live  up  to  that 


192          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

law  if  he  were  ever  to  hold  any  badge  he  might  be  able  to 
earn.  "I — I  help  out  Cis  sometimes,"  he  admitted.  "Y* 
see,  she  goes  t'  the  fac'try  awful  early.  And — and  if  I 
didn't  know  how  t'  cook,  why,  maybe — if  I  was  t'  go  'way 
from  here — maybe  I'd  almost  starve  t'  death." 

"At  the  same  time,"  reminded  Mr.  Perkins,  "you're  do- 
ing Miss  Narcissa  a  daily  good  turn." 

That  aspect  of  the  matter  had  not  occurred  to  Johnnie, 
who  at  once  felt  considerably  better.  "And  also  I  earn 
my  keep,"  he  added  proudly. 

"Earning  your  keep  comes  under  the  ninth  law,"  pointed 
out  Mr.  Perkins.  "A  scout  is  thrifty.  He  pays  his  own 
way." 

Now  the  leader  seemed  to  be  in  the  proper  mood  to  hear 
even  the  worst,  and  this  Johnnie  decided  to  admit. 
"I — I  sweep,  too,"  he  confessed;  "and  make  beds,  and— 
and  was*  dishes."  Then  he  set  his  small  jaws  and  waited, 
for  the  other  was  again  thoughtfully  turning  the  pages 
of  the  book.  He  could  hear  the  hard  thump-thumping  of 
his  own  heart.  He  began  to  wish  that  he  had  not  been 
tempted  to  tell.  He  saw  himself  forever  barred  out  of 
those  ranks  he  so  yearned  to  join  just  because  he  had 
been  guilty  of  doing  girl's  work. 

Mr.  Perkins  stopped  turning  pages  and  looked  up  with 
a  smile.  "With  some  study,  you  might  be  able  to  get  the 
Personal  Health  Badge,"  he  said;  "but  I  guess,  after  all, 
that  the  easiest  one  for  you  will  be  the  merit  badge  for 
cooking." 

The  merit  badge  for  cooking?  Then  without  a  doubt 
cooking  was  something  which  boy  scouts  deigned  to  do! 
And  it  was  not  just  girl's  work!  Nor  did  he  have  to  be 
ashamed  because  he  did  it !  On  the  contrary,  he  could  be 
proud  of  his  knowledge !  could  even  win  honors  with  it !  Oh, 
what  a  difference  all  this  made ! 

Something  began  to  happen  to  the  amazed  Johnnie.    Re- 


THE  HANDBOOK  193 

lieved  at  the  thought  that  he  was  neither  to  be  dropped 
nor  despised  for  his  kitchen  work,  happy  with  the  realiza- 
tion that  he  was  not  unlike  those  boys  of  the  never-to-be- 
forgotten  marching  twos,  suddenly  he  felt  a  change  of 
attitude  toward  cooking.  What  he  had  hated  so  long  now 
did  not  seem  hateful.  "I  can  cook  mush,"  he  boasted  witK 
satisfaction,  "and  meat,  and  beans,  and  potatoes,  and  cab- 
bage, and  biscuits  and  gravy,  and  tea  and  coffee,  and — 
and  prunes." 

"Great !"  said  Mr.  Perkins.  "I  don't  believe  one  of  my 
scouts  can  cook  as  well  as  you  can.  Why,  you're  sure 
to  get  your  badge  on  that  list  of  yours !"  And  pointing 
to  a  small  and  very  black  picture  at  the  middle  of  a  page, 
"This  is  the  device,"  he  explained.  "When  a  boy  gets  it, 
he's  allowed  to  wear  it  on  his  blouse." 

Johnnie  looked.  And  looked  closer.  Next,  to  make  cer- 
tain that  he  was  not  mistaken,  he  pinned  the  picf  ure  with 
a  calloused  forefinger.  "A — a  kettle?"  he  asked  incredu- 
lously. "Scouts  wear  a  pitcher  of  a — a  kettle?" 

"Dandy  idea,  isn't  it?"  returned  Mr.  Perkins;  " — the 
big,  black,  iron  kettle  that  soldiers  and  miners  and  hunt- 
ers have  used  for  hundreds  of  years!  Like  yours  over 
there !" 

Slowly  Johnnie  faced  round.  On  the  back  of  the  stove 
was  the  bean-kettle,  big,  black  and  of  iron,  heavy  to  lift, 
hard  to  wash,  and  for  years — by  Cis  as  well  as  Johnnie — 
cordially  loathed.  "Soldiers  and  miners  and  hunters,"  he 
repeated,  as  if  to  himself;  "and  scout  kids  wear  pitchers 
of  'em."  That  remarkable  change  of  attitude  of  his  now 
included  the  kettle.  He  knew  that  he  would  never  again 
hate  it.  When  he  turned  back  to  the  leader,  he  was  his 
old  confident  self.  "Do  boy  scouts  ever  wear  aprons?"  he 
inquired.  "And  does  anybody  laugh  at  'em?" 

"Laugh?"  said  Mr.  Perkins.  "They  do  not!  When  a 
scout's  round  the  house  like  you  are,  helping  his  mother, 


194         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

perhaps,  he  puts  on  an  apron  if  he's  smart.  Remember 
that  thrifty  law?  Well,  a  boy  mustn't  ruin  his  clothes. 
Out  on  the  hike,  of  course,  where  there  aren't  any  aprons, 
he  generally  uses  a  piece  of  sacking — especially  when  he's 
washing  dishes."  Then,  opening  the  little  book  again, 
"Here  are  directions  for  dishi  washing,"  he  added. 

As  before  Johnnie  stared  while  he  used  a  forefinger. 
Directions  for  dish  washing?  in  the  scouts'  own  book? 
.Would  wonders  never  cease?  Then  without  a  doubt  this 
newest  possession  of  his  contained  many  another  unsus- 
pected salve  to  his  pride.  "My  goodness !"  he  exclaimed 
happily,  "what  all  more  is  there  in  here  'bout  cookin'?" 

"Well,  there's  a  recipe  for  griddle  cakes,  and  bacon,  and 
salmon  on  toast,"  said  Mr.  Perkins ;  "also  roast  potatoes, 
and  baked  fish,  and  hunter's  stew.  But  eggs  and  biscuits, 
of  course,  you  know." 

After  an  hour  of  that  kind,  it  was  quite  natural  that 
Johnnie,  when  he  found  himself  alone  again,  should 
straightway  devise  a  cooking  think — and  this  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life.  He  saw  himself  in  the  center  of  a  great 
group  of  splendidly  uniformed  scouts,  all  of  whom  were 
nearly  famished.  He  was  uniformed,  too ;  and  he  was 
preparing  a  meal  which  consisted  of  everything  edible 
described  in  the  Scouts'  book.  And  as  he  mixed  and  stirred 
and  tasted,  his  companions  proclaimed  him  a  marvel,  while 
proudly  upon  his  breast  he  displayed  that  device  of  the 
kettle. 

Till  the  clock  warned  him  at  five  that  it  was  time  to  get 
ready  for  Big  Tom,  the  Handbook  was  not  out  of  his 
hands.  To  a  boy  who  had  made  easy  reading  even  of  The 
Last  of  the  Mohicans,  Mr.  Perkins's  present  offered  few 
problems.  There  was  not  a  little  in  what  he  read  that, 
cooped  up  as  he  had  been  during  the  last  five  years,  he 
did  not  understand.  But  starting  at  the  first  page,  and 
eating  his  way  through  the  first  chapter,  not  missing  one 


THE   HANDBOOK  195 

of  the  paragraphs  skipped  during  the  morning,  studying 
each  illustration  thoroughly,  and  absorbing  both  pictures 
and  print  like  a  sponge,  he  got  a  very  real  glimmering  of 
what  it  meant  to  a  boy  to  be  a  scout ;  and  not  only  so  far 
as  the  body,  its  strength  and  its  growth,  was  concerned, 
but  also  in  relation  to  character.  And  just  that  first 
chapter  made  him  understand  that  there  was,  indeed, 
something  more  to  scouting  than  looking  plump-chested, 
having  good  blood,  and  cultivating  strong  muscles. 

That  evening  supper  achieved  a  dignity  and  a  pleasure. 
Glad  now  that  he  knew  how  to  get  a  meal,  he  baked  pota- 
toes, made  biscuits  and  gravy,  and  boiled  coffee.  He  real- 
ized that  Big  Tom  would  enjoy  such  a  good  supper,  and 
this,  of  course,  was  a  decided  drawback.  Yet  the  fact  re- 
mained that  if  he  (Johnnie)  was  to  win  a  badge  by  his 
cooking,  the  longshoreman  must  profit.  It  cou^l  not  be 
helped.  He  set  about  preparing  a  dessert — an  unheard-of 
climax  to  any  previous  evening  meal.  Fashioning  small 
containers  of  some  biscuit  dough,  he  first  put  the  pulp  of 
some  cooked  prunes  through  the  tea  strainer — then  filled 
the  containers  with  the  sweetened  fruit  and  baked  them. 
All  the  while  he  visioned  Cis's  surprise  and  delight  over 
the  tarts.  He  even  anticipated  some  complimentary  re- 
mark from  Big  Tom. 

"I'll  get  a  merit  badge,"  he  vowed,  "even  if  I  have  t'  do 
a  lot  o'  things  I  hate !" 

Luckily  Cis  arrived  ahead  of  her  stepfather.  Having 
borrowed  Grandpa's  Grand  Army  hat,  Johnnie  greeted 
her,  first  with  a  snappy  salute;  after  that  he  bowed  and 
bared  his  head  as  if  to  the  Queen  or  the  Princess  Buddir  al 
Buddoor — all  this  as  per  an  illustration  in  his  book  which 
showed  a  scout  uncovering  to  an  elderly  lady  in  a  three- 
cornered  shawl.  "A  scout's  always  p'lite  t'  women  and 
children,"  he  explained  as  he  offered  her  the  kitchen  chair. 
"And  some  day  Boof  is  goin'  t'  go  mad,  and  I'm  goin'  t' 


196          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

protect  y'  from  him!  There's  a  pitcher  in  my  new  book 
that  shows  how  t'  do  it!" 

He  showed  her  his  new  present.  However,  she  gave  it 
only  a  glance,  exactly  as  if  she  had  seen  it  before.  She 
rarely  even  mentioned  Mr.  Perkins  any  more,  and  now  only 
remarked  that  to  have  given  Johnnie  the  book  "was  nice  of 
him,"  adding  that  sport  socks  which  showed  a  boy's  knees 
(  she  was  referring  to  the  cover  of  the  Handbook)  were  "as 
stylish  as  Fifth  Avenue." 

With  Johnnie  bustling  hither  and  thither  in  a  proud 
and  entirely  willing  manner,  the  longshoreman  could  not 
fail  to  remark  a  new  spirit  in  the  flat.  But  in  spite  of  the 
well-cooked,  tasty  meal,  Big  Tom  was  not  moved  to  speak 
any  appreciation. 

After  a  time,  Johnnie  decided  to  invite  a  comment.  "I 
made  y'  f/iscuits  and  gravy  again,"  he  pointed  out. 

"It's  about  time,"  returned  Barber. 

Biscuits  and  gravy,  however,  were  an  established  com- 
bination. The  desired  effect,  then,  might  better  be  gotten 
with  something  never  before  served.  "And  I  fixed  some- 
thin'  for  y'  t'  finish  up  on,"  he  announced.  Then  opening 
the  oven  door  to  display  the  browning  prune  tarts, 
"Lookee !  Baby  pies !" 

"Mm !"  breathed  Big  Tom,  suspicion  flashing  whitely  in 
that  left  eye.  "You're  gittin'  too  good  t'  live !  What  y' 
been  doin'  t'-day?  Breakin'  somethin'?"  But  later  he 
ate  four  of  the  little  confections  with  loud  smacks. 

Johnnie,  standing  at  his  plate  (as  he  had  always  stood 
at  it  since  coming  to  the  flat,  for  there  was  no  chair  for 
him),  ate  his  own  small  pie  and  cogitated  philosophically. 
Big  Tom  had  not  repaid  a  good  turn  with  gratitude.  But 
then  at  least  he  had  been  no  uglier  than  usual;  had  not 
stormed  about  wasting  biscuit  dough  and  sugar,  as  he 
might  easily  have  done.  He  had  been  just  his  ordinary 
self,  which  was  something  to  be  thankful  for. 


THE  HANDBOOK  197 

"Would  y*  bring  home  a  can  of  salmon  fish  for  t'mor- 
row  supper  when  y'  come  in  t'night?"  Johnnie  asked. 
(He  longed  to  try  that  scout  recipe!) 

To  that,  Barber  did  not  commit  himself. 

When  Johnnie  and  Cis  were  left  alone,  old  Grandpa  be- 
ing already  abed,  Johnnie  did  not  try  to  win  her  interest: 
in  the  Handbook,  or  share  with  her  the  new  and  absorbing 
thinks  it  inspired.  Since  that  unhappy  ending  to  the  pro- 
cession of  the  bath,  with  its  wailing  protest,  and  its  tears, 
with  nice  consideration  he  had  not  again  so  much  as 
broached  a  pretend  to  her.  She  sat  at  the  window  in  the 
warm  twilight,  busy — or  so  it  seemed — with  her  fingernails, 
which  these  days  consumed  a  great  deal  of  her  time. 
Johnnie  took  down  the  clothesline  and  fell  to  making 
Knots  Every  Scout  Should  Know. 

But  that  night  on  the  roof !  What  a  revel  theje  was  of 
brave  scout  doings,  of  gentlemanly  conduct ! — all  witnessed 
by  a  large,  fat  moon.  He  wigwagged  messages  of  great 
portent  to  phantom  scouts  who  were  in  dire  need.  He 
helped  blind  men  across  streets  that  ran  down  the  whole 
length  of  the  roof.  He  held  back  pressing  crowds  while 
the  police  were  rendered  speechless  with  admiration.  He 
swept  off  his  scout  headgear  to  scores  of  motherly  ladies 
in  three-cornered  shawls;  wrapped  up  the  sore  paws  of 
stray  dogs ;  soothed  weeping  children ;  straightened  the 
blankets  on  numbers  of  storm-blown  horses  standing 
humped  against  the  bitter  wind  and  rain ;  and  pointed  out 
the  right  road  to  many  a  laden  and  bewhiskered  traveler. 

But  when  his  bed  claimed  him,  and  he  was  free  to  do  a 
little  quiet  thinking,  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  not 
strung  a  single  bead  that  day,  nor  made  one  violet.  Did 
this  not  number  him  among  the  breakers  of  that  first  law? 
— "by  not  doing  exactly  a  given  task."  There  was  not 
the  least  doubt  of  it !  "My !"  he  exclaimed.  "I'm  'fraid 
them  laws  're  goin'  t'  be  a'  awful  bother!" 


195         THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR   BOY 

Nevertheless,  the  following  day,  he  did  not  fail  t;o  keep 
them  in  mind.  Though  Barber  had  so  ill  repaid  his  efforts 
to  please,  though  no  can  of  salmon  had  been  forthcoming 
as  requested,  he  did  not  punish  the  longshoreman  that 
morning.  Life  seemed  very  full  to  him  now,  what  with  his 
regular  duties  and  the  fresh  obligations  laid  upon  him  by 
the  Handbook. 

He  skimped  nothing.  What  did  the  housework  amount 
to,  now  that  he  felt  a  sudden  liking  for  it  ?  And  he  found 
that  he  could  memorize  the  laws  while  he  was  stringing 
beads.  When  he  paused,  either  in  one  line  of  effort  or  the 
other,  it  was  to  do  a  good  turn:  put  crumbs  on  the  win- 
dow sill  for  the  sparrows,  feed  Boof,  take  Mrs.  Kukor  up 
one  of  the  small  pies  (lifting  off  Grandpa's  hat  to  her  at 
the  door),  and  give  the  little  old  veteran  not  one,  but 
several,  s^iort  railway  journeys.  And  all  the  while  he  made 
sure,  by  the  help  of  Cis's  mirror,  that  his  mouth  was  turned 
up  at  each  end  like  a  true  scout's  mouth  should  be. 

"I  got  t'  git  my  lips  used  to  it,"  he  declared,  "so's  they'll 
stay  put." 

And  the  things  he  did  not  do !  For  example,  he  discon- 
tinued his  clothesline  telephone  service;  for  another,  he 
wasted  no  minute  by  introducing  into  the  kitchen  territory 
either  foreign  or  domestic.  For  he  was  experiencing  the 
high  joy  of  being  excessively  good.  Indeed,  and  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  he  was  being  so  good  that  it  was  almost 
painful. 

Finding  Johnnie  in  this  truly  angelic  state  of  mind 
when  he  arrived,  Mr.  Perkins  grasped  his  opportunity, 
skipped  all  the  chapters  of  the  Handbook  till  he  came  to 
that  one  touching  upon  chivalry,  and  sat  down  with  John- 
nie to  review  it.  And  what  a  joy  it  proved  to  the  new 
convert  to  find  in  those  pages  his  old  friends  King  Arthur 
and  Sir  Launcelot,  together  with  Galahad,  Gareth,  Bedi- 
vere  and  all  the  others !  and  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 


THE   HANDBOOK  199 

Alfred  the  Great,  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  the  pioneers,  and 
Mr.  Lincoln! — especially  Mr.  Lincoln,  that  boy  who  had 
traveled  from  a  log  cabin  to  the  White  House ! 

"And  I'll  tell  y'  what!"  he  vowed,  when  Mr.  Perkins 
rose  to  take  his  leave,  "I've  made  up  my  mind  what  I'm 
goin'  t'  be  when  I  grow  up.  I've  thought  'bout  a  lot  of 
things,  but  this  time  I'm  sure !  Mister  Perkins,  I'm  goin' 
t'  try  t'  be  President  of  the  United  States !" 

Later  on,  he  made  a  second  vow  to  himself.  "Good 
turns  for  Grandpa  don't  'mount  t'  much,"  he  declared. 
"He's  so  handy  as  a  good-turner.  So  I'm  goin'  t'  do  one 
that'll  count.  I'm  goin'  t'  good-turn  Big  Tom !" 

He  took  down  the  bag  of  dried  beans  from  the  cupboard 
and  searched  out  certain  nine  small  buttons.  From  time 
to  time,  in  the  past,  he  had,  on  what  he  felt  was  just  provo- 
cation, subtracted  these  nine  buttons  from  Big  Tom's 
shirts.  Now  with  painstaking  effort,  pricking  his  fingers 
many  times,  he  sewed  the  buttons  back  where  they  belonged. 
The  task  finished,  he  was  in  nothing  short  of  an  exalted 
state  of  mind.  So  that  again  for  supper  he  made  biscuits 
and  gravy. 

Then  came  the  bombshell.  It  was  Big  Tom  who  cast  it, 
figuratively  speaking,  among  the  supper  plates.  He  had 
come  scuffing  his  way  in,  his  look  roving  and  suspicious — 
if  not  a  little  apprehensive.  But  what  he  had  to  say  he 
had  saved,  as  was  his  habit,  for  meal  time.  "Sa-a-ay !"  he 
began,  helping  himself  to  a  generous  portion  of  his  favor- 
ite dish ;  "who's  that  dude  that's  been  hangin'  'round  here 
lately?" 

Johnnie's  tongue  felt  numb,  and  his  throat  dry.  He 
thought  of  the  laws,  hoping  he  might  remember  one  that 
would  help  him.  He  could  remember  nothing.  There  was 
a  spy  in  the  house — a  spy  as  evil  as  Magua.  And  that  spy 
deserved  to  be  killed.  He  resolved  that,  later  on,  up  on 
the  roof,  he  would  have  a  splendid  execution. 


200          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Meanwhile  Cis  had  come  to  the  rescue.  "You  mean  Mr. 
Perkins,  the  scoutmaster?"  she  asked.  She  was  white, 
Johnnie  noticed,  and  did  not  look  at  Barber. 

"Scoutmaster !"  repeated  the  longshoreman.  "So  that's 
it,  is  it  ?  I  guessed  you  was  up  to  some  deviltry !" — this 
to  Johnnie.  "And  let  me  tell  you  somethin' :  none  of  them 
crazy  idears 'round  here !  D' y' understand?"  (This  was 
how  much  he  appreciated  biscuits  and  gravy !) 

"Yes,  sir,"  murmured  Johnnie.  But  he  thought  what  a 
pity  it  was  that  some  one  had  not  made  a  scout  out  of 
Big  Tom. 

"None  o'  that  foolish  business,"  went  on  Barber ;  then  to 
Cis,  noticing  her  paleness,  perhaps.  "What's  eatin'  you?" 

"Nothing.     I  feel  tired  to-night,"  she  answered  weakly. 

"Go  t'  bed." 

She  went,  and  as  if  she  was  grateful  to  get  away,  though 
the  sun  was  still  shining  on  the  roofs  of  the  houses  oppo- 
site. She  did  not  even  glance  at  Johnnie,  and  shut  her- 
self in. 

"What  time  t'morrow  will  that  guy  come?"  the  long- 
shoreman wanted  to  know  as  soon  as  Cis  was  gone. 

"  'Bout  'leven."  Johnnie  could  not  help  but  wonder  how 
he  was  ever  to  get  on  if  the  laws  bound  him  so  tight  to 
the  truth,  and  the  truth  would  prove  the  undoing,  the 
wrecking  of  all  his  dearest  plans. 

"  'Leven,"  mused  Barber.  "Hm !— Well,  y'  needn't  t' 
put  up  no  lunch  for  me  in  the  mornin'.  I'll  come  home  for 
it.  I  jus'  want  t'  take  a  look  at  that  scout  gent." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  MEETING 

A  TERRIBLE  dread  filled  Johnnie's  heart— that 
heart  which  had  always  known  so  much  dread.  It 
took  away  his  desire  to  go  upon  the  roof;  it  kept 
him  awake  long  into  the  night,  tugging  at  his  hair,  twist- 
ing and  turning  upon  his  mattress,  sighing,  even  weeping 
a  little  out  of  sheer  helplessness.  Having  his  normal 
amount  of  the  reserve,  dignity  and  pride  thai*  is  child- 
hood's, his  dread  was  not  that  Big  Tom,  when  he  returned 
to  meet  Mr.  Perkins,  would  be  rude  to  the  scoutmaster  (it 
idid  not  occur  to  him  that  the  longshoreman  would  dare 
to  go  that  far)  ;  it  was  that,  in  the  presence  of  the  new 
friend  whose  good  opinion  Johnnie  longed  to  keep,  Barber 
would  order  him  around,  jerk  him  by  a  sleeve,  or  shove 
him  rudely — treat  him,  in  fact,  with  that  lack  of  respect 
which  was  usual,  and  thus  mortify  him. 

The  full  moon  was  again  lifting  above  tHe  city  and 
touching  all  the  roofs  with  silver.  From  where  he  lay  he 
looked  out  and  up,  trying  to  forget  his  wretchedness,  but 
living  the  coming  encounter  again  and  again.  His  ears 
grew  hot  as  Barber  seized  one  of  them  and  wrung  it,  or 
brushed  his  face  with  a  hard,  sweaty  hand.  Imagining  in- 
sult upon  insult,  his  chest  heaved  and  his  wet  eyes  burned. 
"Oh,  One-Eye!"  he  whispered  to  a  dear  image  that 
seemed  to  fill  the  morris  chair,  "if  you  was  only  here !  Gee, 
Big  Tom  never  dast  treat  me  bad  before  you !"  It  was  not 
that  he  felt  for  a  moment  that  the  cowboy  was  the  better 

201 


202          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

friend  of  the  two  whom  he  revered  and  loved;  they  held 
equal  places  in  his  affections.  But  Mr.  Perkins  was  too 
much  of  a  gentleman  to  be  awe-inspiring.  The  Westerner, 
in  his  big  hat  and  his  hairy  breeches,  was  the  man  to  be 
feared ! 

At  breakfast  he  was  given  no  chance  to  talk  matters 
over  with  Cis.  And  she  neither  saw  his  signals  nor  heard 
them,  though  he  arranged  both  the  stove  and  the  table  to 
warn  her  that  something  had  happened,  and  coughed 
croupily  till  Barber  told  him  roughly  to  shut  up.  He 
comforted  himself  with  reflecting  that  it  would  have  done 
him  no  good  had  they  threshed  the  coming  crisis  out. 

It  was  a  shaken,  hollow-eyed,  miserable,  unbathed  little 
boy  that  greeted  Mr.  Perkins  when  the  scoutmaster  rap- 
ped. And  the  sight  of  the  latter  only  made  Johnnie's 
spirits  s^nk  lower.  He  had  hoped  with  all  his  heart  that 
the  leader  would  come  in  all  the  grandeur  and  pride  of 
his  uniform ;  and  here  was  Mr.  Perkins  in  a  light  suit,  a 
straw  hat,  and  white  socks.  The  fact  that  he  had  on  a 
lavender  tie  and  was  carrying  brown  gloves  made  things 
just  that  much  worse.  Steadily,  during  the  past  fort- 
night, the  scoutmaster  had  been  dressing  better  and  bet- 
ter. This  morning  he  was  finer  than  ever  before.  It  was 
awful. 

"You'll  see,"  mourned  Johnnie,  his  eyes  on  the  clock  as 
he  talked.  "He'll  be  awful  mean  t'  me.  Here  he  says  I 
can't  listen  t'  scoutin'  no  more !  N'r  nothin' !  Say,  Mis- 
ter Perkins,  if  he  shoves  at  me,  would  y'  ever  give  him  bis- 
cuits and  gravy  again?" 

Mr.  Perkins  thought  it  over.  "Well,  under  the  same 
circumstances,"  he  said  finally,  "what  do  you  think  Theo- 
dore Roosevelt  would  do?" 

Johnnie  could  not  decide.  He  felt  that  a  look  at  the 
picture  would  help.  Hunting  a  match,  he  disappeared 
into  the  blue  room,  struck  a  light,  and  gave  the  likeness 


THE  MEETING  203 

a  searching  look.  "I  don't  'xac'ly  know,"  he  declared 
when  he  came  out ;  "but,  Mister  Perkins,  I  b'lieve  maybe 
he'd  just  lick  him!" 

A  queer  gleam  came  into  those  eyes  which  were  a  coffee- 
brown.  "I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  said  Mr.  Perkins,  "if 
that  isn't  precisely  what  the  Colonel  would  do." 

The  door  opened.  It  was  Big  Tom.  His  cargo  hook 
hung  round  his  great  neck.  His  hat  was  pushed  back,  un- 
covering a  forehead  seamed  and  sweaty.  To  Johnnie  he 
looked  bigger  and  blacker  than  usual — this  in  comparison 
with  Mr.  Perkins,  so  slim,  if  he  was  fully  as  tall  as  Barber, 
and  so  immaculate,  even  dainty ! 

The  older  man  had  an  insolent  smile  in  those  prominent 
eyes  of  his,  and  a  sneer  bared  his  tobacco-stained  teeth. 
Slamming  the  door,  he  came  sauntering  toward  the  scout- 
master, who  had  risen;  he  halted  without  speaking,  then 
deliberately,  impudently,  he  stared  Mr.  Perkins  frkm  head 
to  foot. 

The  latter  glanced  back,  and  with  much  interest,  not 
staring,  yet  seeing  what  sort  of  looking  man  the  long- 
shoreman was.  To  judge  by  the  expression  in  the  brown 
eyes  he  did  not  like  the  kind.  For  suddenly  his  eyelids 
narrowed,  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth  set.  "Introduce  me, 
Johnnie,"  he  said. 

Anxious,    alert,    and   not  hopeful,    Johnnie   had 
watching  the  two,  this  from  the  farther  side  of  the  table, 
so  that  he  should  not  be  handy  in  case  his  giant  foster 
father  wanted  to  maul  him.     "This  is  Mister  Barber,"  he 
began,  speaking  the  name  as  politely  as  he  could,  but 
getting  to  complete  the  introduction. 
'  "Tommie's    home!      Tommie's    home!"    piped    up    old 
Grandpa,  suddenly  waking  from  his  morning  nap,  a 
dently  not  happy  over  his  discovery. 

«My  name  is  Perkins,"  said  the  scoutmaster  to  I 


204          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

He  spoke  courteously,  but  there  was  no  cringing  in  his 
manner. 

"Perkins,  huh?"  returned  Barber,  grinning.  He  was  so 
close  to  the  other  that  they  all  but  touched.  "And  when 
did  the  cat  bring  you  in  ?" 

In  very  horror  those  lead-pipe  legs  of  Johnnie's  almost 
gave  way  beneath  him,  so  that  he  clung  to  the  table  for 
support.  "Oh!"  he  breathed. 

But  Mr.  Perkins  was  smiling.  "The  cat  brought  me  in 
just  before  he  brought  you  in,"  he  answered  quietly. 

The  reply  wrought  an  instant  and  startling  change  in 
Big  Tom.  The  smile  went  from  the  bloodshot  eyes,  giving 
place  to  that  white  flash  of  rage.  The  heavy  nose  gave  a 
quick  twist.  Every  hair  in  the  short  beard  seemed  to 
bristle.  "Now  there's  somebody  in  this  room  that's  gittin' 
fresh,"  he  observed ;  "and  freshness  from  a  kid  is  somethin* 
I  can't  stand.  I  don't  mention  no  name,  but !  If  it  hap- 
pens again" — he  paused  for  emphasis — "I'll  slap  the  fancy 
eyeglasses  right  off  his  face !" 

There  was  a  tense  pause.  The  two  at  the  center  of 
the  room  were  gazing  straight  at  each  other ;  and  it  seemed 
to  Johnnie,  wavering  weakly  against  the  table,  that  he 
would  die  from  fear. 

However,  Mr.  Perkins  was  not  frightened.  His  hat 
was  in  his  left  hand.  He  let  it  drop  to  the  floor.  But  he 
did  not  move  back  an  inch,  while  those  well-kept  hands 
curled  themselves  into  knots  so  hard  that  their  knuckles 
were  topped  with  white.  "You  wanted  to  see  me?"  he 
said. 

"Y're  wrong !"  declared  Big  Tom.  "I  didn't  want  t'  see 
y».  I  had  t' see  y'." 

"I  note  the  distinction,"  returned  Mr.  Perkins. 

"Y'  do!  Well,  just  listen  t'  me  a  second,"  counseled 
Barber,  "before  we  git  started  on  to  what  I've  got  t'  say." 
Now  his  anger  flamed  higher.  He  began  to  shake  a  big 


THE   MEETING  205 

finger.  "Don't  you  put  on  no  fancy  airs  with  me!  Y' 
git  that?  For  the  good  and  simple  reason  that  I  won't 
stand  for  'em !"  He  chawed  on  nothing. 

"I  was  not  aware  that  I  was  putting  on  any  fancy  airs," 
answered  Mr.  Perkins.  "Airs  are  something  that  I  don't 
— waste." 

"Any  high-falutin'  stuff  would  be  wasted  'round  here," 
went  on  Barber.  "We're  just  plain,  hard-workin',  decent 
people. — And  now  we'll  git  down  to  brass  tacks."  He 
passed  in  front  of  Mr.  Perkins  and  settled  himself  heavily 
in  the  morris  chair. 

The  scoutmaster  faced  about,  found  the  kitchen  chair, 
and  sat.  "I'm  listening,"  he  said.  He  was  businesslike, 
even  cordial. 

"You  seem  t'  hang  'round  here  about  two-thirds  of  your 
time,"  commented  Big  Tom,  hunting  his  pipe. 

"No,"  contradicted  Mr.  Perkins,  easily.  "Lately,  I've 
been  coming  here  one  hour  a  day." 

"And  just  what's  the  idear?"  The  big  fingers  plucked 
blindly  at  the  strings  of  a  tobacco-bag,  for  Big  Tom  did 
not  take  his  eyes  from  the  younger  man. 

"I've  been  giving  the  boy  setting-up  exercises,"  ex- 
plained Mr.  Perkins. 

"Y'  have!" — sarcastically.  "Ain't  that  sweet  of  y'!" 
Then  with  an  impatient  gesture  that  scattered  tobacco 
upon  the  floor,  "Exercises!"  Big  Tom  cried  wrathfully. 
"Exercises!  As  if  he  can't  git  all  the  exercises  he  needs 
by  doin'  his  work !  I  have  t'  feed  that  kid,  and  feed  costs 
money.  He  knows  that.  And  he  earns.  Because  he  ain't 
no  grafter." 

In  sheer  amazement,  Johnnie's  look  strayed  to  Mr.  Per- 
kins. He  had  expected  mistreatment  and  insult  for  him- 
self, and  here  he  was  receiving  praise ! 

"There's  a  difference  in  exercising,"  said  Mr.  Perkins. 
"Johnnie  gets  one  kind  while  he's  doing  his  work.  But  his 


206         THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

work  is  all  inside  work,  out  of  the  fresK  air  that  every 
boy  needs.  And  certain  of  his  muscles  are  not  developed. 
I've  been  correcting  that  undevelopment  by  giving  him 
the  regular  setting-up  that  we  give  all  boy  scouts." 

"Shucks,  your  boy  scouts !"  sneered  Big  Tom.  "We  got 
no  time  for  'em.  We're  poor,  and  we're  busy,  and  we  got 
a'  old,  sick  man  on  our  hands.  That's  scoutin'  enough !" 

"Many  men  who  have  boys  think  as  you  do,"  acknowl- 
edged Mr.  Perkins,  serenely.  "That  is,  at  first." 

"I  think  it  first  and  second,"  returned  Big  Tom,  rais- 
ing his  voice.  "And  also  I  know  it." 

"I  promise  you  that  it  won't  hurt  Johnnie,"  urged  the 
scoutmaster. 

" Yeh  ?  But  I  know  what  would  hurt  Johnnie,  and  that's 
growin'  up  t'  look  like  you!" 

At  that,  Mr.  Perkins  burst  out  in  a  laugh.  It  was  both 
good-na*tured  and  amused.  "Well,  my  looks  suit  me,"  he 
declared. 

"Which  is  more'n  7  can  say  of  'em,"  retorted  Barber. 
"They  don't  suit  me  a  little  bit!" 

Mr.  Perkins  laughed  again.  "Sorry,"  he  said,  but  his 
lone  entirely  contradicted  his  assertion. 

Barber  kept  on :  "Your  looks  don't  suit  me,  and  neither 
8oes  your  talk.  You're  altogether  too  slick,  too  pink- 
and-whity,  too  eye-glassy,  and  purple-shirty,  and  cute- 
socky,  and  girl-glovy." 

"I  see." 

"T'  put  it  plainer,  y'  don't  look  t'  me  like  a  real  man." 
Out  now  came  the  underlip,  threatening,  aggressive. 

"Indeed?"  Dire  as  the  insult  was,  Mr.  Perkins  was 
still  smiling,  was  even  a  trifle  bored.  "And  what  kind  of  a 
chap  do  you  think  is  a  real  man?" 

"Somebody,"  answered  Big  Tom,  "that's  ev'rything  you 
ain't.  Why,  honest,  you  look  too  nice  t'  me  t'  be  out  in 


THE   MEETING  207 

bad  weatKer.  Y'  know,  one  of  these  days  you'll  melt,  *r 
git  streaked." 

"Mm!  Perhaps  I'm  too  clean."  Those  coffee-colored 
eyes  were  cool.  With  one  swift  up  and  down  they  exam- 
ined Big  Tom's  apparel. 

The  longshoreman  squirmed  under  the  scrutiny.  "Y* 
don't  look  like  y've  ever  done  a  lick  of  honest  work  in  your 
whole  life!"  he  declared  hotly.  "Y'  look  like  your  pink 
face  was  made  o'  dough,  and  the  balance  of  y'  out  o* 
putty !  Y'  look  as  if  the  calf 'd  licked  y' !" 

Again  that  amused,  bored  smile.  "No,"  said  Mr.  Per- 
kins, "that  hasn't  happened  yet." 

"No?  Well,  y'  never  can  tell.  Y'  might  git  licked  by 
somethin'  besides  a  calf." 

Another  of  those  pauses  which  seemed  so  terribly  long 
to  Johnnie,  and  so  fraught  with  direful  possibilities.  Then, 
"I  might,"  agreed  the  scoutmaster,  carelessly ;  "but  again 
I — might  not." 

Now  Barber  showed  that  he  did  not  possess  the  self-con- 
trol that  distinguished  the  younger  man.  His  heavy,  hair- 
rimmed  mouth  working  as  if  with  unspoken  words,  he  rose, 
pocketed  the  pipe,  and  took  a  long  step  toward  the  table, 
upon  which  he  planted  both  his  huge  hands.  As  he  leaned 
there,  it  was  plain  that  he  longed  for  trouble.  "I  might 
not !"  he  mocked,  disgusted.  "Sure,  y'  might !  For  the 
reason  that  you  ain't  the  kind  that's  got  a  wallop  in  your 
fist !" 

Mr.  Perkins  got  up,  too.  But  only  as  if  it  were  the 
well-bred  thing  to  do.  The  bronze  of  his  face  was  con- 
siderably darker  than  usual ;  and  his  eyes  were  black,  and 
shone  like  great  beads.  "Ah !"  he  exclaimed,  as  amused  as 
ever.  "Now  I  think  I  know  what  it  is  that  you  respect 
most  in  men.  Brute  force.  Am  I  right?  Muscle!  The 
power  to  give  a  hard  blow." 

"Dead  right !"  answered  Barber,  striking  the  table  with 


208          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

his  open  hand.    "I  hate  a  mollycoddle !  a  cutie !  a  reg'lar 
pill!" 

Mr.  Perkins  nodded  in  the  friendliest  way.  "So  do  I," 
he  declared  heartily.  "And  that's  just  why  I  want  to 
train  Johnnie's  muscles,  and  teach  him  how  to  use  his 
hands." 

Big  Tom  straightened  and  went  round  the  table.  "I'll 
train  Johnnie's  muscles,"  he  said ;  "and  I'll  teach  him  what 
t'  do  with  his  hands,  too.  And  you  keep  your  nose  out  of 
it.  Understand?"  Then  deliberately  reaching  out,  with 
one  finger  he  gave  Mr.  Perkins  a  poke  in  the  chest. 

That  chest  swelled  under  the  neatly  buttoned  light  coat. 
Yet  Mr.  Perkins  continued  to  smile.  But  he  did  not  move 
back  by  so  much  as  an  inch.  And  presently,  with  a  low 
"Bah!"  of  anger  and  disgust,  the  longshoreman  loafed 
away.  "All  right,"  he  drawled,  in  a  tone  of  dismissal ; 
"and  now  I'll  ask  for  your  room." 

"My  room?"  The  scoutmaster  did  not  appear  to  under- 
stand. 

"Yes !  Yes  !" — loudly,  and  facing  round.  "I'm  askin' 
y*  not  t'  bother  us  any  more  this  mornin'  with  your  ever- 
lastin'  talk!" 

"Oh.  You  wish  me  to  go."  Mr.  Perkins  took  up  his 
hat  and  gloves. 

"My,  but  you're  smart!"  exclaimed  Barber,  sarcasti- 
cally. "You  can  understand  plain  English! — Yes,  dear 
Mister  Perkins,  I  mean  that  I  don't  want  y'  round."  With 
that  he  continued  on  to  the  hall  door,  and  opened  it. 
"This  way  out,"  he  said  flippantly.  The  brown  teeth 
showed  again. 

Mr.  Perkins  gave  Johnnie  a  cheery  smile.  "Good-by, 
old  chap,"  he  said.  He  went  to  the  wheel  chair  and  laid  a 
gentle  hand  on  Grandpa's  shoulder.  "Good-by,  Grandpa !" 

"Good-by,  General!"  quavered  the  old  man.  "Good- 
by  !"  A  shaking  hand  lifted  in  a  salute. 


THE  MEETING  209 

Mr.  Perldns  gave  Barber  a  courteous  nod  as  he  passed 
him.  "Good-by,"  he  said  pleasantly. 

"Good-by,"  returned  Barber.  "And  good  riddance!" 
He  slammed  the  door. 

Then  something  strange  happened — something  that  had 
never  happened  before.  Without  giving  Johnnie  a  look, 
Barber  lifted  down  the  lamp,  lighted  it,  carried  it  into 
Cis's  room,  and  closed  the  door. 

Rooted  to  the  floor,  alert  as  any  frightened  mouse, 
Johnnie  listened.  He  could  hear  the  longshoreman  mov- 
ing about,  and  the  scrape  of  the  dressing-table  box  as  it 
was  lifted  from  its  place,  then  shoved  back.  What  was 
Barber  hunting?  Fortunately  the  books  were  wound  up 
in  Johnnie's  bedding,  a  precaution  taken  by  their  owner 
in  view  of  Barber's  spoken  determination  to  return  and 
take  a  look  at  Mr.  Perkins.  By  any  chance  did  $he  long- 
shoreman know  about  the  Handbook?  If  he  did,  and  if 
he  found  it,  what  would  happen  then  ? 

After  what  seemed  a  long  time,  Barber  appeared.  Ex- 
cept for  the  lamp,  his  hands  were  empty.  He  blew  into 
the  top  of  the  chimney  and  set  the  lamp  back  in  its  place. 
"Tea,"  he  ordered. 

Startled,  Johnnie  fairly  rose  into  the  air.  When  he 
touched  the  floor  again,  he  was  halfway  to  the  stove.  He 
set  the  table  for  one,  mustering  the  food  which  Big  Tom 
was  to  have  had  in  the  lunch  pail.  Barber  ate,  occasion- 
ally growling  under  his  breath  ;  or  blew  fiercely  at  the  full 
saucer  from  which  he  was  drinking.  His  look  roved  the 
room  as  if  he  were  still  searching.  His  meal  finished,  he 
found  his  hat,  hung  the  cargo  hook  about  his  neck,  and 
slouched  out. 

Then  for  the  first  time  Johnnie  relaxed,  and  slumped 
into  the  morris  chair.  He  was  not  only  weak,  he  was  sick 
— too  sick  with  bitterness  and  hate  and  shame  and  rage 
even  to  care  to  go  into  Cis's  room  to  see  in  what  condition 


210         THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Big  Tom  had  left  it.  He  knew  now  that  the  rough  Handling 
that  he  had  feared  for  himself,  though  it  would  have  been 
hard  enough  to  endure,  was  less  than  nothing  when  com- 
pared with  what  he  had  suffered  in  seeing  Mr.  Perkins  in- 
sulted, and  ordered  out. 

He  began  to  talk  to  himself  aloud:  "Good  turns  don't 
work !  I'm  sorry  I  ever  done  him  one !  I'll  never  do  him 
another,  y'  betcher  life !"  Black  discouragement  possessed 
him.  What  good  did  it  do  any  one  to  treat  a  man  like 
Barber  well?  "Why,  he's  worse'n  that  mean  Will  Atkins 
that  Crusoe  hates !"  he  declared.  "And  the  first  time  I  git 
a  chance,  away  I'll  go,  Mister  Tom  Barber,  and  this  time  I 
won't  never  come  back!" 

"Sh!"  whispered  old  Grandpa.  "Sh!"  The  faded  blue 
eyes  were  full  of  fear. 

Johnnie  fed  the  old  soldier  and  got  him  to  sleep.  Then 
he  tapped  the  basket  signal  up  to  Mrs.  Kukor's.  He  had 
found  the  bed  roll  undisturbed,  and  knew  that  Big  Tom 
had  not  discovered  his  treasures.  But  he  would  not  take 
any  further  chances.  When  the  basket  came  swinging 
slowly  down,  he  called  a  brief  explanation  to  the  little 
Jewish  lady.  When  the  basket  went  up,  it  swung  heavily, 
for  his  six  precious  books  were  in  it. 

Now  he  had  no  time,  and  no  inclination,  for  reading. 
And  he  had  no  patience  for  any  law  that  aimed  to  stand 
in  his  way.  (Big  Tom  had  driven  Mr.  Perkins  from  the 
flat ;  also,  he  had  just  about  swept  the  place  clean  of  every 
good  result  that  the  scoutmaster  had  worked.)  What 
Johnnie  felt  urged  to  do  seemed  the  only  thing  that  could 
lessen  all  that  rage  and  shame,  that  hate  and  bitterness, 
which  was  pent  up  in  his  thin  little  body. 

"So  I  can't  ever  be  a  scout,  eh  ?"  he  demanded.  "Well, 
you  watch  me !"  He  planted  the  kitchen  with  a  trackless 
forest  through  which  boomed  a  wind  off  Lake  Champlain. 
The  forest  was  dark,  mysterious.  Through  it,  stealing 


THE  MEETING  211 

on  soft,  moccasined  feet,  went  Johnnie  and  the  cruel 
Magua,  following  the  trail  of  the  fleeing  and  terrified 
longshoreman. 

They  caught  him.  They  bound  him.  And  now  the  His- 
paniola  came  into  sight  across  the  Lake,  her  sails  full 
spread  as  she  hurried  to  receive  her  prisoner.  Johnnie  and 
Magua  put  Barber  aboard.  The  latter  pleaded  earnestly, 
but  no  one  listened.  Again  the  ship  set  sail,  bound  for 
that  Island  which  had  yielded  up  its  treasure  to  Captain 
Smollet's  crew.  On  this  Island,  Big  Tom  was  set  down. 
And  as  the  Hispaniola  set  sail  once  more,  her  prow  pointed 
homeward,  Johnnie  looked  back  to  where  the  longshoreman 
was  kneeling,  hands  appealingly  upraised,  beside  those  cer- 
tain three  abandoned  mutineers. 

"And  there  yj  stay,"  called  Johnnie ;  " — for  life !" 


CHAPTER  XXH 

CIS  TELLS  A  SECRET 

CIS  was  seated  on  her  narrow  pallet,  her  back  against 
the  prized  excelsior  cushion,  her  knees  drawn  up 
within  the  circle  of  her  slender  arms.     About  her 
shoulders  tumbled  her  hair,  its  glossy  waves  framing  a 
face,  pale  and  tense,  in  which  her  eyes  were  wide  pools  of 
black. 

Johnr.ie  was  just  below  her  on  the  floor,  his  quilt  spread 
under  him  for  comfort,  a  bare  foot  nursed  in  either  hand. 
The  combined  positions  were  such  as  invariably  made  for 
confidences.  And  he  guessed  that  what  she  had  to  tell  him 
now  was  something  unusually  important  and  exciting. 

"Johnnie,"  she  whispered,  and  he  saw  himself  dancing 
in  those  dark  pools ;  " — oh,  if  I  don't  tell  it  to  somebody, 
I'll  just  die!  Oh,  Johnnie,  what  do  you  think?  What  do 
you  think?" 

He  thought ;  then,  "New  shoes  ?"  he  hazarded.  "A  new 
dress?  A — a — more  money  at  the  fact'ry?  Or" — and  in 
an  excited  rush — "another  book !" 

"Oh!"  She  lifted  her  face  to  the  ceiling,  wagging  her 
head  helplessly.  "Shoes !  or  a  dress !  or  money !  or  a  book ! 
They're  nothing,  Johnnie,  alongside  of  the  truth — just 
nothing!" 

"Well,  then,  what?"  he  asked,  leaning  forward  encour- 
agingly. "Go  on,  Cis  !  Tell  me !" 

"Johnnie  Smith," — impressively — "you're  sitting  be- 
side a  young  lady  that's  going  to  be  married !" 

212 


CIS  TELLS  A  SECRET  213 

Johnnie  gasped.  "Married?"  He  fell  back  from  her, 
the  better  to  stare.  He  had  expected  an  important  com- 
munication ;  but  he  was  not  prepared  for  anything  so  as- 
tounding as  this. 

She  nodded.     "Right  away." 

Going  to  be  married!  So  that  was  why  she  seemed  so 
different,  so  changed !  that  was  why  she  had  been  wearing 
her  hair  up,  and  fussing  so  often  with  her  nails !  why  she 
cared  no  longer  for  Edwarda!  why  she  could  not  see  the 
people  of  his  thinks !  It  was  simple  enough,  now  that  he 
understood.  Of  course  with  a  wedding  in  view,  naturally 
she  was  grown-up ;  and  a  girl,  whenever  she  got  grown-up, 
could  not  let  her  braids  hang  down  her  back.  And  as  for 
fine  hands —  "Y'  mean  y've  heard  from  the  Prince?"  he 
demanded. 

She  laughed.    "No-o-o-o !    Oh,  Johnnie,  you  sillp !" 

He  knit  his  brows  and  regarded  her  reprovingly. 
"Well,"  he  argued,  "y'  always  told  me  how  much  y'  love 
him." 

"But  I  didn't  ever  know  him  even !  And  that  was  a  long 
time  ago ! — No,  it's  some  one  else,  and  really  a  Prince,  be- 
cause he's  so  splendid!  Oh,  Johnnie,  guess!  Guess  the 
most  wonderful  person  ever !  Guess  a  knight !  Like  Gala- 
had! Oh,  he's  exactly  like  Galahad!"  Now  she  gazed 
past  him.  There  were  tears  on  her  eyelashes.  Her  parted 
lips  were  trembling.  "I'm  too  happy  almost  to  live !"  she 
added.  Then  down  went  her  forehead  to  rest  on  her  knees, 
and  he  saw  that  she  was  trembling  all  over. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Just  at  first  he  had  felt  in- 
clined to  taunt  her  a  little  for  being  so  changeable  in  her 
affections,  so  flighty;  and  it  had  hurt  his  opinion  of  her, 
this  knowledge  that  she  could  be  disloyal.  But  now  he  was 
curious.  Who  was  really  a  Prince?  and  splendid?  and  like 
Galahad? 

He  saw  a  figure,  tall  and  dark,  majestically  seated  upon 


214         THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR   BOY 

a  great,  bay  horse.  A  cap  shaded  proud,  piercing  eyes. 
A  uniform  set  the  rider  wholly  apart  from  all  the  ordinary 
men  hurrying  by  in  both  directions.  Who  in  the  city  of 
New  York  was  so  like  a  knight  as  one  of  those  brave,  su- 
perb, unapproachable,  almost  royal,  creatures,  a  mounted 
policeman?  ("Fine  Irishers,"  as  Mrs.  Kukor  called  them.) 

Then  Johnnie  was  reminded  of  something.  "Cis,  will  y' 
be  married  with  a  red  carpet?"  he  whispered. 

She  looked  up,  turning  on  him  a  smile  so  sweet  and 
glowing  that  it  was  like  a  light.  "I  don't  know,"  she  whis- 
pered back.  "Maybe — if  I  want  one — I  think  so."  Down 
went  her  head  again. 

Now  another  picture.  The  carpet  was  laid.  It 
stretched  across  the  smooth  pavement  under  a  long,  high, 
gray  canopy.  A  red  carpet  and  a  gray  canopy  meant  just 
one  thjng:  great  wealth.  And  Johnnie  saw  Cis  following 
where  that  carpet  led,  beside  her  one  of  the  four  richest 
men  in  the  world.  This  man  was  Mr.  Astor  (or  Mr.  Van- 
derbilt,  or  Mr.  Rockefeller,  or  Mr.  Carnegie — any  one  of 
the  quartette  would  do).  The  mounted  policeman  was  still 
a  part  of  the  happy  scene,  but  only  in  an  official  capacity, 
since  from  the  back  of  his  prancing  bay  he  was  keeping 
off  the  vast  crowd  that  was  swarming  to  see  the  bridal 
couple. 

And,  naturally,  the  policeman,  in  spite  of  his  fine  uni- 
form, was  not  to  be  compared  for  a  moment  to  the  bride- 
groom. New  York  had  many  policemen ;  it  had  only  one 
Mr.  Astor  (or  Mr.  Vanderbilt,  or  Mr.  Rockefeller,  or  Mr. 
Carnegie).  Also,  the  future  surroundings  of  a  Mrs.  Po- 
liceman— what  were  they  when  put  alongside  what  Cis 
would  have  when  she  was  Mrs.  Any-one-of-the-Four?  A 
house  as  big  as  the  Grand  Central  Station — that  was  a 
certainty.  With  it  would  go  silk  dresses  and  furs  with 
dozens  of  little  tails  to  trim  them;  jewels  of  the  sort 
Aladdin  had  sent  the  Sultan  for  the  Princess  Buddir  al 


CIS  TELLS  A  SECRET  215 

Buddoor ;  books  in  as  great  a  number  as  Cis  cared  to  buy, 
all  from  that  store  in  Fifth  Avenue ;  automobiles  like  those 
owned  by  the  Fifty-fifth  Street  rich  man ;  dishes  of  massy 
gold. 

"And  I  betcher  I'll  ride  in  one  of  her  cars,"  he  thought ; 
"and  I'll  read  her  books !"  And  at  once  the  future  looked 
rosy  and  promising. 

She  began  to  whisper  again,  her  chin  on  a  knee:  "He's 
got  a  place  for  me  all  picked  out!  I  won't  have  to  go  to 
the  factory  any  more !  I'll  have  pretty  clothes,  and  good 
things  to  eat  every  meal,  and  see  plays  and  moving-pictures 
every  week,  and  just  have  nothing  to  do  but  keep  house, 

and  sew,  and " 

The  startled  expression  on  Johnnie's  face  stopped  her. 
"Keep  house?"  he  repeated,  disgusted.  "Sere?"  These 
were  not  matters  which  should  trouble  the  bride  of  a  mil- 
lionaire !  "What're  y'  goin'  t'  do  things  like  that  for?** 

She  blinked  at  him,  rebuffed  and  puzzled.  "Why  not? 
I  like  to  sew." 

"Aw," — the  palace  of  his  vision  was  down  now,  had  yan- 
ished  like  Aladdin's  own — "what's  your  new  name  goin'  t* 
be  ?"  He  felt  unaccountably  cross. 

"Johnnie !  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  And  jou  mean 
you  don't  know?  you  can't  guess?  You  haven't  noticed? 
And  you  right  here  all  the  time?" 

Surprise  stiffened  Johnnie's  countenance.  "OhP*  he 
cried,  amazed  and  glad.  "Oh,  Cis,  I  know  now!  You're 
goin'  t'  marry  One-Eye !" 

Girls,  as  he  knew,  were  very  strange;  and  surely  this 
one  was  not  the  least  so.  It  was  a  conclusion  that  came 
to  him  now,  and  forcibly.  For  at  his  solemn,  heart-felt, 
happy  question,  what  this  girl  did  was  to  fall  back  against 
her  pillow,  shouting  with  laughter,  waving  both  arms,  even 
kicking  out  her  feet  in  the  craziest  manner.  And  "One- 


216         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Eye !"  she  repeated ;  "One-Eye !"  Then  was  swept  into  an- 
other paroxysm  of  mirth. 

Presently,  "Well,  go  on!  Tell  me!"  Johnnie  said  witK 
proper  masculine  severity. 

"Oh,  Johnnie,  you  are  so  funny !"  she  declared  breatK- 
lessly.  "One-Eye!  That  old  man!  Oh,  never,  never, 
never,  never!"  The  last  never  was  only  a  squeak. 

"When  y'  git  done  laughin' — "  he  prompted ;  and  waited, 
lips  set,  and  lids  lowered  with  displeasure. 

"Somebody  a  thousand  times  nicer  than  One-Eye !"  she 
went  on.  "A  mittion  times  nicer !  And,  oh,  Johnnie,  how 
I  love  him !" 

Johnnie's  heart  sank,  heavy  with  the  great  pity  that  now 
welled  up  in  his  heart.  He  knew  whom  she  meant ;  but  he 
knew,  too,  that,  sweet  and  pretty  and  lovable  as  she  was, 
and  nrf*  doubt  capable  of  winning  the  affections  of  a 
mounted  policeman  or  a  millionaire,  she  had  not  the  slight- 
est chance  in  the  world  of  marrying  the  handsome,  the 
good,  the  wise,  the  peerless  and  high-born  Mr.  Perkins. 
"St !  st !  st !"  he  mourned.  He  sighed,  leaned  against  the 
side  of  the  shelf,  propped  his  yellow  head  on  a  big  hand, 
and  watched  her  sadly. 

"Mrs.  Algernon  Godfrey  Perkins !" — Cis  spoke  as  if  in 
an  ecstatic  dream.  "A.  G.  P. !  Oh,  but  they're  lovely  ini- 
tials !" 

He  was  glad  when  she  leaned  her  head  on  her  knees  again, 
for  then  she  could  not  see  his  face.  "Gee !"  he  murmured, 

"It  was  you  brought  him  to  me!"  went  on  Cis.  "I'll 
never  forget  that,  Johnnie !  It  means  my  whole  life !  Just 
think  of  that!  A  whole,  long,  wonderful  life  with  him!" 

"Aw,  but,  Cis !  Are  y'  sure  y'  got  a  chance  ?" — his  voice 
was  tender  with  sorrowful  concern. 

She  sat  up.  "Johnnie  Smith,  what're  you  talking 
about?"  she  demanded.  "A  chance!  Why,  he  loves  me! 
He  says  so!  Over  and  over  and  over!  And  look  here!" 


CIS  TELLS  A  SECRET  217 

She  thrust  a  finger  under  the  collar  of  her  dress  and  drew 
out  a  length  of  white  ribbon,  narrow  and  shining.  Mid- 
way of  it,  playing  along  the  satin,  was  a  ring — a  gold  ring 
set  all  the  way  round  with  tiny,  white,  glistening  stones. 
"Mr.  Perkins,  he  gave  me  this,"  she  added,  and  caught  the 
ring  to  her  lips. 

"Mrs.  Perkins !"  Now  his  eyes  were  big  with  the  won- 
cler  of  it  all!  That  Waldorf-Astoria  apartment — Cis  was 
to  live  in  it!  There  could  no  longer  be  any  doubt  of  it. 
The  ring  was  solid  proof.  Almost  reverently  he  reached 
to  take  it  in  his  fingers.  "The  same  as  Aladdin  loved  the 
Princess  !"  he  said  slowly. 

Cis  gave  a  toss  of  her  brown  head.  "Oh,  Aladdin  !"  she 
scoffed.  "This  is  really  and  truly,  Johnnie!  There's  no 
make-believe  about  it!" 

What  all  this  meant  to  her,  to  Mr.  Perkins,  land  to 
him,  he  realized  then.  But  he  could  not  be  happy  over  it 
because  of  a  new  fear.  "Oh,  Cis !"  he  cried,  leaning  close 
to  speak  low.  "Don't  y'  know  what's  goin'  t'  happen? 
If  y'  tell  Big  Tom  'bout  this,  he'll  kill  y'!  And,  oh!  oh! 
He'll  kill  him!  Mister  Perkins  !" 

"Sh !  Sh !"  She  put  an  arm  about  him.  "It's  going  to 
be  all  right!  Who'll  tell  Big  Tom?  Don't  you  worry.  7 
idon't.  I'm  not  his  daughter,  Mr.  Perkins  is  going  to 
find  me  a  guardian.  It'll  be  a  lady,  I  think.  Anyhow 
then  I'll  do  just  what  the  guardian  says.  You  know, 
guardians  're  awfully  stylish.  Girls  have  them  in  books, 
and  in  the  movies.  Yesterday  somebody  was  telling  at  the 
factory  about " 

She  had  caught  his  interest,  taking  it  from  that  fresh 
worry.  His  arms  about  her,  his  head  resting  against  her 
shoulder,  they  talked  on  and  on,  in  whispers.  When  Bar- 
ber came  stomping  in,  and  ordered  them  to  be  quiet,  John- 
nie forsook  the  little  blue  room ;  but  he  could  not  sleep,  and 
stole  to  the  roof  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 


218          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

The  night  was  the  most  beautiful  he  had  ever  seen.  Or 
was  it  the  joy  in  his  own  heart  that  made  everything  seem 
so  perfect?  How  deeply  blue  were  the  patches  of  star- 
sprinkled  sky  showing  between  clouds  of  dazzling  white! 
How  sweet  and  live  was  the  air  driving  cityward  from 
the  sea !  And  the  moon !  As  it  came  slipping  from  cloud 
to  cloud,  as  round  as  the  washtub,  and  nearly  as  large, 
it  seemed  to  Johnnie  to  have  a  face  that  he  could  see 
plainly.  And  that  face,  full  and  fat,  was  laughing! 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

ROSES  THAT  TATTLED 

"y^jIS  BAR-R-BER-R-R!     Cis  Bar-r-r-ber-r-r!     Cis 

1       .  Bar-r-r-ber-r !" 

^—^  It  was  the  shrill  voice  of  the  Italian  janitress, 
calling  up  from  the  area,  and  the  summons  was  peremptory 
and  impatient. 

The  day  was  Sunday,  so  that  Cis,  as  well  as  Big  Tom, 
was  at  home.  At  the  moment  the  longshorenftin  was 
humped  over  the  sink,  rinsing  his  bluish  jowls  after  a 
shave.  T!is  was  beside  him,  standing  at  the  kitchen  win- 
dow. The  day  before  she  had  been  told  by  a  girl  friend 
that  one  side  of  every  person's  face  is  always  better-look- 
ing than  the  other  side;  and  now  she  was  holding  up  in 
front  of  her  the  broken  bit  of  mirror  while,  as  she  turned 
her  head  delicately,  now  this  way,  now  that,  she  tried  to 
decide  between  the  merits  of  the  two  views. 

"Cis  Bar— rber!"  sounded  the  call  again,  this  time  with 
an  added  note  of  annoyance. 

Cis  transferred  her  attention  to  her  nose.  Recently  a 
certain  somebody  had  told  her  one  or  two  things  about 
that  nose.  She  was  considering  this,  aided  by  the  glass. 
"My!  That  janitress  is  getting  bossier  and  bossier!"  she 
remarked  somewhat  languidly. 

Johnnie,  bent  over  his  violets,  paused  with  a  flower  half 
done.  He  marveled  at  her  lack  of  curiosity,  envying  her 
for  it.  How  grandly  grown-up  she  was !  As  for  him,  he 
was  fairly  on  pins  and  needles  to  know  what  it  was  the 

219 


220 

janitress  wanted.  "St!  st!"  he  hissed  cautiously  (Bar- 
ber's head  being  just  then  buried  in  the  roller  towel).  He 
tried  hard  to  catch  her  eye. 

"Cis  BAR-BERr—it  was  a  shriek. 

"I've  told  that  woman,  over  and  over,  that  my  name 
isn't  Barber,"  went  on  Cis,  touching  her  hair  with  deft 
fingers. 

Barber  took  his  head  out  of  the  towel.  "Go  and  see 
what  she  wants,"  he  commanded  irritably.  "She'll  wake 
the  old  man." 

"She  wants  me  to  be  running  up  and  down  three  flights 
of  stairs,"  returned  Cis,  calmly.  (It  was  astonishing  the 
attitude  she  took  these  days  with  Big  Tom,  the  tone  of 
equality  she  used.)  "She  thinks  I'm  still  one  of  the  young- 
sters in  this  building,  and  that  she  can  order  me  around 
like  she*' used  to  do.  But  I'm  going  to  remind  Madam 
Spaghetti  that  I'm  seventeen  to-day."  She  gave  a  toss 
of  her  head  as  she  went  out. 

Seventeen!  Sure  enough!  Johnnie  pondered  her  good 
fortune.  It  would  be  quite  a  little  more  than  six  years 
before  lie  would  be  seventeen.  How  remote  that  fortunate 
day  seemed !  And  how  the  time  would  drag !  Oh,  if  there 
were  only  some  scheme  for  making  it  go  faster! 

"Let  your  hair  alone !"  scolded  Big  Tom,  who  was  rak- 
ing his  own  at  the  window,  his  legs  spraddled  wide  in  order 
to  lower  himself  and  thus  bring  his  head  on  a  level  with 
Cis's  mirror. 

A  scout  is  obedient.  Down  came  Johnnie's  hand.  Also, 
a  scout  is  cheerful  when  obeying;  so  up  went  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  And  there  was  one  more  point  to  cover: 
courtesy.  "Yes,  sir,"  he  answered  politely.  He  proceeded 
with  his  petals  of  violet  cotton  and  his  little  length  of  stem. 
For  what  had  Mr.  Perkins  said  so  often  about  all  these 
matters  of  conduct? 

"Get  the  habit  of  doing  them,  old  fellow.     If  being  a 


ROSES   THAT  TATTLED  221 

scout  means  anything,  it  means  living  up  to  the  laws, 
sticking  close  to  the  spirit  of  the  whole  scout  idea,  and 
following  out  what  the  Handbook  teaches.  Put  the  ques- 
tion of  Big  Tom  out  of  your  mind.  Whether  he  likes  what 
you  do  or  not;  and  whether  or  not  you  please  him  when 
you  live  by  the  laws,  those  aren't  the  main  considerations. 
No!  It's  yourself  you  must  think  of!  your  character! 
Remember  that  you're  not  trying  to  make  over  Tom  Bar- 
ber. Body  and  soul,  you're  making  over  Johnnie  Smith !" 

And  these  days  Johnnie  Smith  was  getting  on  by  leaps 
and  bounds  with  his  preparation,  his  training  to  be  a 
scout.  Fortunately  that  meeting  between  Mr.  Perkins 
and  Big  Tom  had  made  no  difference  whatever  in  his  pro- 
gram. The  morning  after  it  took  place,  the  scoutmaster 
had  made  his  appearance  as  usual  at  eleven  o'clock.  "I 
can't  let  Mr.  Barber  drive  me  away,"  he  explained,  t  "Why, 
that  would  be  deserting  you,  old  fellow,  and  you're  count- 
ing on  me,  aren't  you?  No,  we'll  go  right  ahead." 

"But  if  he  finds  out!"  Johnnie  ventured,  happy,  yet 
somewhat  apprehensive. 

"He'll  order  me  out  again  probably,"  returned  Mr. 
Perkins,  calmly.  *'Of  course,  if  he  could  understand  what 
I'm  trying  to  do  for  you,  I'm  sure  he'd  look  at  the  whole 
matter  in  a  friendlier  way."  (Mr.  Perkins  never  came 
closer  than  this  to  a  criticism  of  the  longshoreman.) 
"Well,  he  can't  understand,  because,  you  see,  the  poor 
chap  never  had  the  right  thing  done  for  him. — Yes,  we'll 
go  right  ahead." 

However,  as  Johnnie  continued  to  feel  nervous  on  the 
score  of  what  his  foster  father  might  do  to  this  good 
friend  if  the  latter  was  again  discovered  at  the  flat,  the 
scoutmaster,  for  Johnnie's  sake,  and  to  make  the  boy's 
mind  more  easy,  agreed  to  change  the  time  of  his  call  to 
a  little  after  one  o'clock  of  each  afternoon,  it  being  de- 
cided that  this  hour  was  the  safest. 


222          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Johnnie  had  wanted  to  say  something  about  the  ring, 
and  the  engagement — something  to  the  effect  that  he  was 
happy  over  the  news,  only  Mr.  Perkins  was  taking  his 
(Johnnie's)  job  away  from  him,  since  he  had  planned, 
when  he  grew  up, — yes,  and  even  before — to  take  care 
of  Cis  himself.  But  for  some  reason  he  did  not  find  it 
easy  to  broach  the  subject ;  and  since  the  scoutmaster  did 
not  begin  it  (he  looked  ruddier  and  browner  than  ever  be- 
fore, Jonnnie  thought),  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  the  en- 
gagement did  not  get  discussed  at  all. 

Instead,  the  Handbook  took  up  the  whole  of  the  hour. 
A  mysterious  signal  on  the  sink  pipe  brought  all  of  the 
books  down  to  them,  descending  in  the  basket  as  if  out  of 
the  sky.  Mrs.  Kukor  had  to  be  thanked  then,  from  the 
window,  after  which  Mr.  Perkins  and  Johnnie  settled  down 
to  a  chapter  treating  of  the  prevention  of  accidents,  first- 
aid,  and  lifesaving.  And  that  afternoon,  when  the  scout- 
master was  gone,  Letitia  was  several  times  rescued  from 
drowning,  and  carried  on  a  stretcher;  and  that  evening 
Cis,  on  coming  in  from  work,  found  Grandpa's  old,  white 
head  bandaged  scientifically  in  the  dish-towel,  this  greatly 
to  the  veteran's  delight,  for  he  believed  he  had  just  been 
wounded  at  the  Battle  of  Shiloh. 

The  chapter  for  the  next  day  after  proved  even  more 
exciting.  It  was  all  about  games — the  Treasure  Hunt,  and 
Let  'er  Buck,  Capture  the  Flag,  and  dozens  more,  but  each 
as  strange  to  Johnnie  as  another,  since  he  had  never 
played  one  of  them.  Mr.  Perkins  added  his  explanations  to 
those  in  the  Handbook,  and  showed  Johnnie  and  Grandpa 
how  cock-fighting  was  done,  gave  a  demonstration  of  skunk 
tag,  and  proved  that  the  soft,  splintery  boards  of  the 
kitchen  floor  were  finely  adapted  to  mumbly  peg. 

That  night  on  the  roof,  Johnnie  hailed  to  him  a  score 
of  scouts,  along  with  Jim  Hawkins  and  David,  Aladdin, 
and  several  of  the  younger  Knights  of  King  Arthur.  Then 


ROSES   THAT   TATTLED  223 

went  forward  a  great  game  of  duck  on  a  rock,  followed  by 
a  relay  race  and  dodge-ball.  The  roof  had  come  to  mean 
more  and  more  to  Johnnie  of  late,  but  now  he  felt  espe- 
cially glad  that  he  had  it  to  go  to.  During  the  past  few 
weeks  he  had  frequented  it  under  every  sort  of  summer- 
night  sky.  It  was  his  weather  station,  his  observatory,  his 
gymnasium,  his  park,  his  highway,  his  hilltop,  his  Cru- 
soe's Island.  In  the  thinks  he  conjured  up  there,  it  was 
also  his  railroad  station,  for  he  traveled  far  and  wide  from 
it  on  trains  that  went  puffing  away  from  that  little  house 
built  at  the  top  of  the  stairs ;  and  it  was  his  wharf,  to 
which  tall-masted  ships  came  with  the  swift  quiet  of  so 
many  pigeons.  But  now  the  roof  was  for  him  still  another 
place — besides  a  health  resort:  it  was  his  playground  for 
all  those  scout  games. 

But  he  and  Mr.  Perkins  had  not  stopped  at  that  chapter 
on  Games.  From  cover  to  cover  Johnnie  absorbed  the 
Handbook,  reading  even  the  Appendix  and  the  Index !  He 
read  the  advertisements,  too,  and  came  to  own  a  kodak,  a 
junior  rifle,  a  watch,  a  scout  axe,  and  various  other  de- 
sirable things.  But  the  merit  badge  he  did  not  own.  He 
meant  to  earn  that,  to  have  it  really — not  just  as  a  think ; 
for  which  reason  he  never  lagged  in  the  matter  of  his 
meal  getting. 

Big  Tom  profited  through  this  determination  of  John- 
nie's. Night  after  night  he  had  biscuits  and  gravy.  He 
had  apple  sauce  where  formerly  Johnnie  would  have  let 
the  longshoreman  eat  his  green  apples  uncooked.  Bar- 
ber profited,  too,  in  the  amount  of  work  Johnnie  did  every 
clay,  promptly  and  thoroughly,  and  in  those  good  turns 
which  served  to  make  old  Grandpa  happier. 

Now  as  Johnnie  waited  for  Cis  to  return  from  the  area, 
he  pondered  on  the  difference  between  Big  Tom  and  Mr. 
Perkins.  The  latter  had  often  pointed  out  to  Johnnie  that 
it  did  not  cost  anything  to  be  either  polite  or  cheerful,  and 


224          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

the  boy  liked  being  both.  Why  was  Big  Tom  neither? 
"Mister  Barber,  what  does  'Birds  of  a  feather  flock 
t'-gether'  mean?"  he  inqured. 

Barber  had  on  a  white  collar  and  his  best  coat.  His 
shoes  were  laced,  too.  This  was  the  Sunday-morning 
longshoreman  that  was  the  pleasantest  to  look  at.  "Where 
d'  y'  git  hold  of  such  stuff?"  was  his  retort.  (Yet  Barber 
smiled  as  he  put  on  his  hat.  The  boy  was  coming  to  time 
in  great  shape  these  days,  behaving  himself,  doing  his 
work,  learning  to  answer  a  man  right.  A  blind  person 
could  see  the  improvement.  Who  could  say  truthfully 
that  he  was  not  raising  the  boy  first-class?) 

As  the  hall  door  shut  behind  Barber,  Johnnie  could 
scarcely  keep  himself  down  in  his  chair.  He  wanted  to 
look  out  of  the  window  to  try  if  he  could  not  see  Cis.  But 
he  staye^  where  he  was,  and  twisted  away  busily.  Barber 
might  be  at  his  old  tricks ;  might  open  the  door  at  any  mo- 
ment. But  also,  just  so  many  violets  must  be  made  of  a 
Sunday,  and  just  that  many  would  be  made.  A  scout  is 
trustworthy. 

Yet  just  so  many  violets  were  not  to  be  made,  thus 
proving  how  uncertain  life  is.  For  here  came  Cis,  switch- 
ing her  way  in  importantly.  She  was  panting.  She  was 
flushed.  Cautiously  she  shut  the  door  behind  her.  "I've 
been  up  on  Mrs.  Kukor's  stairs,  waiting,"  she  half  whis- 
pered. Under  one  arm  she  was  carrying  a  long,  satiny- 
white  box. 

"Another  doll?"  demanded  Johnnie,  astonished  and  dis- 
appointed. To  him  any  long,  white  box  could  mean  noth- 
ing else.  However,  he  rose,  unable  to  be  entirely  indiffer- 
ent even  to  a  new  doll. 

"Doll !"  cried  Cis,  scornfully.  She  dropped  the  box  on 
the  table. 

Then  Johnnie  saw  that  it  was  not  a  doll;  for  out  of 
one  end  of  the  box — an  end  that  was  open — extended  a 


ROSES   THAT   TATTLED  225 

• 

handful  of  long,  slender,  green  stems.  The  gift  was  flow- 
ers, tied,  not  with  common  string,  but  with  a  flat,  green 
tape  which  looked  fully  as  expensive  as  ribbon,  and  nearly 
as  handsome.  "Oh,  gee !" — this  as  he  seized  the  stems,  not 
being  able  to  wait,  he  was  so  excited,  and  tried  to  draw  the 
flowers  from  the  box.  "Oh,  Cis,  d'y'  s'pose  these  're  from 
One-Eye?  D'y'  think  maybe  One-Eye  is  back? — Oh, 
hurry !" 

"Wait!" — speaking  gently,  yet  with  something  of  a 
high-and-mighty  air.  "Johnnie,  you've  got  One-Eye  on 
the  brain."  The  cord  untied,  she  slipped  the  cover  off  the 
box.  Next  she  swept  aside  a  froth  of  crisp  tissue-paper 
which  was  still  veiling  the  gift.  Then  together  they  looked 
down. 

"O-o-o-o-h !"    It  was  a  chorus. 

Roses !  Pink  roses !  A  very  pile  of  them,  snuggling  in 
the  cool,  delicate  greenery  of  ferns !  Up  from  them  lifted 
a  fragrance  that  rivaled  even  that  of  orris  root.  Cis 
leaned  to  breathe.  Next,  Johnnie  leaned,  all  but  swelling 
to  the  bursting  point  that  flat  little  chest  of  his  to  take  in 
the  delicious  perfume.  Thus  for  a  while,  and  without 
speaking,  they  dipped  their  heads,  alternating,  to  the  box. 

Presently,  Cis  lifted  the  bouquet — almost  with  rever- 
ence. The  cups  of  the  flowers  were  narrow,  looked  into 
from  directly  above,  as  if  each  flower  had  just  opened. 
And,  oh,  how  young  each  seemed!  and  how  beautiful! 
When,  in  all  the  years  since  the  tenement  had  been  built, 
had  it  sheltered  such  loveliness !  Bravely  enough  the  dark, 
smudgy  kitchen,  with  its  scabby  walls  and  its  greasy,  splin- 
tery floor,  grew  knots  of  violets.  But  here  were  flowers  not 
made  by  hands:  flowers  which  had  come  up  out  of  the 
earth! — yet  with  a  perfectness  which  was  surely  not  of 
the  earth;  certainly  not,  at  any  rate,  of  this  particular 
corner  of  it  situated  in  the  Lower  East  Side. 


226          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"My  first  roses !"  Cis  said.  Her  tone  implied  that  they 
were  not  her  last. 

"They're  fine !"  pronounced  Johnnie,  solemnly. 

"Fine?  They're  darling !  They're  precious !  They  look 
as  if  they'd  just  come  down  from  Heaven!"  Out  of  the 
long,  white  box  Cis  now  took  a  small,  square  envelope. 
She  handed  it  to  Johnnie.  "Open  it,  please,"  she  bade, 
and  rather  grandly,  her  air  that  of  one  who  has  been  re- 
ceiving boxes  of  roses  all  her  life.  Then  once  more  she 
buried  that  complimented  nose  among  her  flowers. 

The  envelope  was  not  sealed.  That  was  because,  John- 
nie concluded,  there  was  no  letter  in  it.  What  it  contained 
was  a  narrow,  stiff  card.  On  the  card,  written  in  ink, 
was  "Many  happy  returns  of  the  day!"  This  Johnnie 
read  aloud.  "But  there's  no  name,"  he  complained.  "So 
how  d'y'  know  these  didn't  come  from  One-Eye?  I'll  just 
bet  they*did!  I'll " 

"Read  the  other  side,"  advised  Cis  calmly.  She  fell  to 
counting  the  roses. 

Over  went  the  card.  "Oh,  yes;  you're  right — Mister 
Algernon  Godfrey  Perkins,  it  says.  Gee!  but  he  must've 
spent  a  pile  of  money !  And  what  day's  he  talkin'  about? 
How  can  a  day  return?" 

"Your  birthday  can  return — every  year,  the  way  Christ- 
mas does.  To-day  is  seventeen  times  my  birthday  has 
returned;  and  there's  just  seventeen  roses  here.  That's 
one  for  each  year  I've  lived."  She  began  to  whisper  into 
the  buds,  touching  in  turn  each  pink  chalice  with  her  pink 
lips.  "This  is  the  rose  for  the  year  I  was  one,  and  this  is 
the  rose  for  the  year  I  was  two,  and  this  is  the  rose " 

Johnnie  proceeded,  boylike,  to  acquire  some  intimate  and 
practical  knowledge  of  her  gift.  He  opened  one  flower 
a  little,  carefully  spreading  its  petals.  "My!  ain't  they 
soft !"  he  marveled.  "Gee !  I'd  like  t*  make  some  'xac'ly 
like  'em  out  o'  silk!  And,  ouch!  What's  this?" 


ROSES   THAT   TATTLED  227 

"This"  was  a  thorn,  the  first  he  had  ever  seen.  Learn- 
ing that  the  roses  had  many  thorns,  he  begged  hard  for 
one,  whereupon  Cis  broke  off  for  him  that  particular 
needlelike  growth  which  was  the  farthest  down  on  any 
stem.  He  received  it  gratefully  on  a  palm,  carried  it  to 
the  window,  and  there  split  it  open  with  a  thumb-nail; 
and  having  been  assured  by  Cis  that  it  was  a  safe  enough 
thing  to  do,  he  finally  put  the  divided  thorn  into  his 
mouth  and  chewed  it  up.  And  found  it  good! 

Next,  he  begged  a  bit  of  stem.  At  first,  Cis  demurred, 
arguing  that  to  cut  a  stem  might  injure  the  rose  at  its 
top ;  but  was  won  over  when  Johnnie  pointed  out  that  all 
of  the  stems  had  been  already  cut  once — "and  maybe  it  was 
good  for  'em!"  But  then  the  question  was,  which  of  the 
seventeen  stems  could  best  spare  a  bit  of  its  length  ?  This 
took  consideration;  also,  measuring — with  a  st^ng.  At 
last  the  longest  stem  of  all  was  found.  Cis  held  it  tenderly 
while  Johnnie  did  the  cutting.  Snip !  He  got  a  quarter- 
inch  of  the  growth.  This,  also,  he  split,  examined,  smellecl, 
and  ate.  And  discovered  that  it  tasted  even  better  than 
the  thorn! 

Meanwhile,  Cis  was  parading,  her  bouquet  clasped  to 
her  breast.  He  went  over  and  walked  to  and  fro  beside 
her,  studying  the  flowers.  "Those  come  up  out  o'  the 
clirt,  didn't  they?"  he  mused.  "But  they're  pink  and 
green.  And  dirt  ain't,  is  it?  So  how  can  the  roses  be  like 
they  are?  'R  else  the  ground  ought  t'  be  pink  on  top — 
that's  t'  make  the  flowers — and  green  'way  down,  so's  t' 
grow  the  stems.  And  how  does  the  roses  know  not  t'  git; 
green  up  top  and  pink  all  up  and  down?  And  how " 

"Oh,  do  hush!"  implored  Cis.  "Don't  you  see  that  I'm 
trying  to  think?  Don't  talk  aloud,  Johnnie,  please!" 

It  was  then  they  heard  the  stairs  creak,  and  a  heavy 
step  in  the  hall.  And  thought  of  Big  Tom  for  the  first 
time — having  been  too  enthralled  by  the  roses,  until  now, 


228          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

to  remember  anything  else.  "Oh,  quick !"  Johnnie  was  be- 
tween Cis  and  the  door  of  her  room.  He  moved  aside  to 
let  her  pass.  "Oh!" — but,  being  panic-stricken,  she 
stepped  in  the  same  direction,  so  that  she  stumbled  against 
him.  Finding  himself  again  blocking  her  path",  "Hurry !" 
he  urged,  and  dodged  the  other  way.  She  also  dodged 
that  way.  Thus  they  did  a  kind  of  frightened  side-to-side 
idance  there  in  the  middle  of  the  kitchen  floor — as  the  door 
opened  and  Barber  appeared,  his  coat  on  his  arm. 

Face  to  face,  with  the  roses  between  them,  Cis  and 
Johnnie  stayed  where  they  were,  as  if  stricken  into  help- 
lessness by  the  sight  of  the  longshoreman,  toward  him 
turning  their  beseeching,  anxious  look.  Each  reached 
blindly  to  touch  the  other,  for  strength  and  sympathy. 
And  the  roses,  lifted  to  the  level  of  their  lips,  swayed  to 
their  ha»I  breathing. 

Barber  lumbered  closer.  "What  y'  got  there?"  he  de- 
manded. He  flung  his  coat  from  him,  to  light  upon  the 
table,  where  it  covered  those  other  flowers  which  were  of 
cotton. 

"R — roses,"  faltered  Cis,  her  voice  scarcely  audible. 

Now  the  longshoreman  came  to  loom  over  them.  "Where 
'd  y'  git  'em?"  he  asked  next,  staring  at  the  bouquet  almost 
wildly.  ("He'll  jerk  it,"  thought  Johnnie.) 

"You — you  remember  the — the  Mr.  Perkins?"  Cis  be- 
gan, not  taking  her  eyes  from  Big  Tom's  face. 

Barber  did  not  "jerk"  the  roses.  Instead,  he  pointed 
one  of  those  long  arms  toward  the  window.  "Walk  over 
there,"  he  commanded,  "and  pitch  'em  out!"  His  arm 
stayed  outstretched. 

Cis  tried  to  speak,  made  as  if  to  plead,  but  could  only 
swallow.  As  for  Johnnie,  he  was  petrified,  mesmerized,  and 
remained  in  her  path,  watching  those  eyes  which  were 
bulging  so  furiously,  while  that  white  flash  in  the  left  one 


ROSES   THAT   TATTLED  229 

darted  into  sight  and  disappeared,  then  came  and  went 
again. 

"Out!"  repeated  Barber. 

Cis  lowered  her  look  to  her  roses,  as  if  she  were  seeing 
them  for  the  last  time.  Even  in  the  dusk  of  the  kitchen 
their  bright  color  was  reflected  upon  her  face,  which,  but 
for  the  flowers,  would  have  been  a  ghastly  white.  A  quick 
catching  of  the  breath,  like  a  sob.  Then,  her  chin  sunk 
among  the  blossoms,  she  half-circled  Johnnie,  and  slowly 
started  windowward. 

"Git  a  move  on !"    Barber  spoke  low. 

At  that,  she  turned,  holding  the  roses  toward  him.  "Oh, 
Mr.  Barber !"  she  begged.  "Don't  make  me !  Don't !  The 
first  roses  I've  ever  had !  The  first !  Oh,  don't  hurt  'era !" 

The  wheel  chair  began  to  swing  around.  It  was  curious 
how  quickly  a  note  of  dissension  could  rouse  the  old  sol- 
dier from  sleep,  though  with  any  amount  of  excitement  of 
the  happy  kind  he  napped  undisturbed.  "Johnnie  ?  John- 
nie ?"  he  called.  The  faded,  weak  eyes  peered  about. 

Barber  acted  quickly.  With  a  muttered  curse,  he  lunged 
across  the  room  to  Cis,  snarled  into  her  face  as  he  reached 
her,  and  wrenched  the  roses  out  of  her  hand.  "I'll  hurt 
'em  all  right!"  he  promised  savagely. 

"Tommie !  Tommie !" — it  was  a  joyous  cry.  The  bright 
flowers  had  caught  Grandpa's  eye.  "Oh !  Oh,  Tommie !" 
Now  the  chair  started  in  Barber's  direction.  "Oh, 
Mother !  Oh,  go  fetch  Mother !"  He  let  Letitia  drop  as 
he  turned  at  the  wheels. 

The  roses  were  half  way  out  of  the  window;  Barber 
drew  them  back,  as  if  his  father's  delight  in  the  bouquet 
had  made  him  change  his  mind.  But  he  did  not  give  them 
to  Grandpa.  Instead,  he  hid  the  flowers  behind  him.  "Git 
the  old  man  some  milk,"  he  told  Johnnie ;  and  to  Cis,  "You 
put  on  your  hat  and  take  these  out,  and  don't  you  come 
back  with  less'n  a  dollar." 


230          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"A — a  dollar?"  She  began  to  weep.  Though  she  did 
not  yet  understand  what  he  meant  her  to  do. 

"Yes,  a  dollar."  Barber  stayed  beside  the  window,  the 
roses  still  at  his  back.  "You  heard  me !  Sell  'em." 

She  turned  toward  her  room.  "Sell  my  birthday  pres- 
ent !"  she  sobbed.  "The  first  bouquet  I've  ever  had !  The 
first !"  But  instinctively  her  hands  went  up  to  smooth  her 
hair. 

That  told  Johnnie  that  she  was  getting  ready  to  put  on 
her  hat  and  obey  a  wicked  command.  He  fumbled  with  the 
milk  bottle  and  a  cup,  spilling  a  little  of  the  drink.  "All 
right,  Grandpa,"  he  soothed.  But  his  tone  was  not  indi- 
cative of  his  real  feelings.  Other  words  were  boiling  up  in 
him  that  he  did  not  speak :  "/  wouldn't  sell  'em,  y'  betcher 
life !  He  could  go  out  and  sell  'em  himself !  And  I'd  tell 
him  so,  y'  betcher  life !  And  he  could  lick  me  if  he  wanted 
t' !  He  could  pound  me  till  I  died !  But  I  wouldn't  mind 
him!" 

Something  came  driving  up  into  his  throat,  his  eyes,  his 
pale,  strained  face.  It  was  the  blood  of  hate.  It  choked 
and  blinded  him,  sang  in  his  ears,  swelled  his  thin  neck, 
reddened  his  unfreckled  cheeks.  Oh,  this  was  more  than 
he  could  bear,  even  if  he  was  to  be  a  scout  some  day !  The 
laws,  the  good  resolutions,  the  lessons  taught  by  Mr.  Per- 
kins, they  were  not  helping  him  now  when  this  fearful 
thing  was  being  done.  He  began  a  terrible  think — of  Big 
Tom  down  on  the  floor,  helpless,  bleeding,  begging  for 
mercy,  while  Johnnie  struck  his  cruel  tormentor  again  and 
again — trampled  him — laughed — shouted ! 

Cis  came  from  the  tiny  blue  room.  Her  head  was  low- 
ered. The  tears  were  making  wet  tracks  between  eyes  and 
pitifully  trembling  mouth.  She  walked  as  far  as  the  table, 
which  checked  her,  and  she  halted  against  it  blindly. 

"There  you  are,"  said  Big  Tom.  He  tossed  the  roses 
upon  his  coat.  "Go  on,  now !  Hurry !  Don't  wait  round 


ROSES   THAT   TATTLED  231 

till  the  old  man  gits  t'  fussin' ;  and" — as  she  gathered  the 
roses  up  and  made  slowly  toward  the  door — "don't  do  no 
howlin'  on  the  street,  or  folks'll  think  y're  crazy." 

She  halted  and  turned  her  tear-stained  face  toward  him. 
"People  -will  think  I'm  crazy!"  she  sobbed.  "A  girl  like 
me  selling  flowers  on  the  street  of  a  Sunday  morning !" 

"Wait!"  That  had  changed  his  mind.  "Give  'em  t' 
Johnnie." 

Johnnie  went  to  her.  But  for  a  moment  he  did  not  take 
the  roses,  only  looked  up,  twisting  his  fingers,  and  working 
a  big  toe.  His  teeth  were  set  hard.  His  lips  were  drawn 
away  from  them  in  a  grimace  of  pure  agony.  Scouts  were 
brave.  Did  lie  dare  to  be  brave?  Cis  had  not  held  out 
against  the  order,  and  he  had  blamed  her  in  his  heart  for 
her  weakness  as  he  vowed  to  himself  that  he  would  rebel. 
But  now — !  Could  he  turn  and  speak  out  his  defiance? 
Could  he  tell  Barber  that  he  would  not  sell  the  flowers  ? 

The  next  thing,  he  had  taken  the  bouquet  into  his  hands. 
He  did  not  mean  to ;  and  he  did  not  look  at  Cis  after  he  did 
it,  because  he  could  not.  His  head  was  bowed  like  hers 
now;  his  heart  was  bursting.  But  not  solely  on  account 
of  the  roses.  He  was  thinking  of  himself.  He  was  a  little 
coward — there  was  no  use  denying  it !  Yes,  he  was  as  cow- 
ardly as  a  girl!  Here  he  had  been  given  his  chance  "to 
face  danger  in  spite  of  fear,"  "to  stand  up  for  the  right" 
— and  he  had  failed !  He  understood  clearly  that  this  was 
not  the  time  to  be  obedient,  and  that  he  could  not  offer 
obedience  as  an  excuse.  No  boy  should  carry  out  an  order 
to  do  what  was  wrong. 

"Git  along!"  It  was  Big  Tom  again,  fuming  over  the 
delay. 

Hatless,  barefooted,  in  his  flopping,  too-big  clothes,  and 
with  seventeen  rosebuds  clasped  to  his  old,  soiled  shirt, 
Johnnie  went  slowly  out,  black  shame  in  his  soul. 

"I — I  couldn't  say  it!"  he  mourned.    "I  wanted  t',  but 


2»2         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

it  jus'  wouldn't  come  out!  I  s'pose  it's  'cause  I  ain't  ft 
reg'lar  scout  yet."  Going  down  the  stairs,  he  saw  no  one, 
though  several  of  the  curious  (having  learned  about  the 
big  box  that  had  gone  up)  saw  him.  But,  strangely 
enough,  they  watched  him  in  silence,  their  speech  stayed 
by  the  misery  in  his  lowered  face  and  bent  shoulders. 
"After  a  while  I'll  be  better,  maybe,"  he  told  himself  hope- 
fully. "But  now  'bout  all  I  can  do,  seems  like,  is  keep  my 
teeth  clean." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

FATHER  PAT 

AN  energetic,  hot,  and  dust-laden  wind  caught  at 
Johnnie  as  he  came  out  upon  the  street,  whipping 
strands  of  his  yellow  hair  into  his  eyes  and  about 
his  ears,  blowing  the  fringe  at  his  knees  and  elbows,  billow- 
ing the  big  shirt  till  his  ribs  were  fanned,  and  setting  to 
wave  gayly  all  those  pink  rosebuds  and  their  green  leaves. 

The  wind  did  more:  warm  as  it  was,  it  caimed  his 
thoughts  and  steadied  his  brain,  so  that  he  was  able  to  see 
the  whole  matter  of  the  birthday  bouquet  clearly,  and  reach 
a  new  and  better  decision  in  regard  to  the  flowers.  Now 
he  understood  perfectly  that  in  spite  of  whatever  might 
happen  to  him  when  he  got  home,  he  could  not  sell  Mr. 
Perkins's  gift.  No  boy  who  intended  to  be  a  scout  could 
do  such  a  thing — then  return,  even  with  the  large  sum  of 
one  whole  dollar,  and  expect  Cis  to  speak  to  him  again. 
And  how  could  he  ever  bear  to  admit  such  a  sale  to  Mr. 
Perkins?  or  to  One-Eye? 

"I'd  rather  fall  down  and  die !"  he  vowed.  "  'Cause  it'd 
show  'em  all  that  I  ain't  gittin'  made  over  a  bit !" 

But  if  he  did  not  dispose  of  the  flowers  to  some  one>  as 
the  longshoreman  had  ordered,  what  then?  Should  he 
turn  around  and  go  straight  back  to  the  flat — now?  He 
halted  for  a  moment,  thinking.  To  go  back  would,  of 
course,  mean  a  beating,  perhaps  with  the  buckle  end  of  the 
strap !  (  A  thought  that  made  him  shiver  as  he  stood  there, 
on  a  hot  pave,  in  the  summer  sun.)  Oh,  was  there  not 

233 


234          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

some  way  by  which  he  could  keep  the  bouquet  and  yet  not 
suffer  punishment?  Suppose  he  gave  the  roses  away?  to 
the  first  old  lady  he  met  ?  and  then  reported  to  Big  Tom — 
with  tears ! — that  a  gang  of  boys  had  snatched  the  flowers 
out  of  his  hands?  But  that  would  be  telling  a  lie,  and  a 
lie  would  be  as  bad,  almost,  as  taking  money  for  Cis's 
blossoms.  No,  he  would  not  lie,  though  not  so  long  ago, 
before  he  met  the  scoutmaster,  and  read  the  Handbook, 
he  would  not  have  hesitated;  indeed,  he  would  have  re- 
joiced in  cheating  Barber,  and  complimented  himself  on 
thinking  up  such  a  clever  story. 

Suppose,  however,  that  he  were  to  sell  the  flowers  for  a 
dollar,  keep  the  money,  and  not  return  to  the  flat  at  all? 
For  a  moment  this  plan  seemed  such  a  good  one  that  he 
started  off  briskly,  his  look  searching  the  faces  of  passers- 
by.  Another  moment,  and  he  came  short  again.  How 
could  he  cut  himself  off  from  Mr.  Perkins  ?  For  if  he  did, 
his  hope  of  being  a  scout,  when  he  was  twelve  years  old, 
would  be  gone.  Also,  there  was  that  wedding ;  he  had  set 
his  heart  on  attending  it,  and  walking  the  red  carpet  be- 
tween lines  of  envious  onlookers.  No,  this  was  no  time 
to  be  leaving  the  flat. 

Then,  a  splendid  idea!  And  He  made  up  his  mind  in- 
stantly that  he  would  carry  it  out,  so  on  he  started,  though 
more  slowly  than  before.  His  new  plan  was  this:  He 
would  walk,  and  walk,  and  walk,  enjoying  the  buds  all  the 
while,  their  delicate  fragrance,  the  silken  touch  of  their 
petals  against  his  chin.  As  he  walked,  he  would  not  look 
at  any  one — just  at  the  scenery ;  so  that  when  he  returnee! 
home  he  could  truthfully  say  that  he  had  seen  no  one  even 
so  much  as  look  at  the  roses.  No  matter  what  any  stranger 
might  say  to  him,  he  would  not  stop,  and  then  he  could 
declare  that  noboHy  had  stopped  him.  Also,  should  a  lady 
or  gentleman  hail  him,  asking  to  buy,  he  would  not  an- 


FATHER  PAT  235 

fcwer,  and  so  he  would  be  able  to  say  that  he  had  not  refuse3 
to  sell. 

He  would  stay  out  till  it  was  late — till  it  was  dark,  and 
the  three  at  home  were  grown  anxious.  Then  when  he 
felt  sure  that  Grandpa  was  abed,  back  he  would  go,  taking 
the  roses  to  Cis.  He  would  enter  the  flat  "staggering  like 
I  can  hardly  stand  up."  And  mourn  over  his  ill-luck  as  a 
salesman.  And  if  he  had  to  take  a  whipping,  "Well,  I'll 
yell  as  hard's  I  can"  (everybody's  window  was  open  these 
soft  June  nights)  "even  if  I  scare  Grandpa  a  little,  and  I'll 
make  Big  Tom  quit  quick.  And  anyhow  I'd  feel  awful  for 
a  long  time  if  I  done  what  he  wants  me  to,  but  a  lickin', 
why,  it  don't  last." 

He  felt  a  return  of  pride  and  self-respect.  On  he  ram- 
bled, looking  at  the  scenery,  and  particularly  at  the  higher 
portions  of  it,  this  so  as  to  avoid  the  eyes  of  passing  peo- 
ple. Luckily  for  his  peace  of  mind,  he  did  not  know  that 
cut  flowers  need  water,  or  that  they  would  wilt,  and  be  less 
fresh  and  beautiful  than  they  were  now.  So,  considering 
the  circumstances,  his  thoughts  were  cheerful,  for  while  the 
coming  evening  might  bring  him  trouble  and  tears,  the  fu- 
ture not  so  immediate  promised  praise  and  love  and  a  clear 
conscience.  "By  mornin' — by  this  time  t'-morrow,  the 
hurt'll  be  over,"  he  reflected,  and  then  without  regrets  he 
could  go  in  and  look  at  Mr.  Roosevelt,  could  face  Aladdin, 
too,  and  Galahad,  Jim  Hawkins,  Mr.  Lincoln,  Daniel 
Boone  and  all  his  other  friends.  (He  had  not  read  and 
studied  that  chapter  on  Chivalry  without  results !) 

Every  one  stared  at  the  strange  little  figure  in  the  big, 
ragged  clothes  with  a  sumptuous  bouquet  of  pink  rosebuds 
held  so  high  against  his  breast,  under  his  folded  arms,  that 
only  his  tousled  hair  and  his  gray  eyes  showed.  Some 
were  curious,  and  swung  round  as  he  went  by  to  look  after 
him.  Others  smiled,  for  the  contrast  between  the  boy  and 
his  armful  of  blossoms  was  comical.  A  few  looked  severe, 


236          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

as  if  they  suspicioned  that  he  had  not  come  by  the  bouquet 
honestly.  Now  and  then  a  boy  called  to  him,  or  ran 
alongside.  At  a  corner,  two  girls  caught  at  one  of  the 
buds,  missed  it,  then  scampered  out  of  reach,  squealing. 
His  chin  up,  his  eyes  up,  he  ignored  them  all. 

On  and  on  he  sauntered — west,  then  north.  Perhaps  he 
might  go  as  far  as  that  store  where  New  York  bought  all 
of  its  books.  Being  Sunday,  of  course,  the  store  would  be 
closed.  But  it  would  be  fine  to  have  a  look  in  at  the  win- 
dows. From  the  book  shop  he  would  swing  east  again,  for 
a  glimpse  of  the  horse  palace.  It  might  just  happen  that 
One-Eye  would  be  back !  Oh,  if  only ! 

"Hey  there!" 

Somehow  he  knew  that  the  call  was  at  him.  And  though 
it  was  a  man  who  was  hailing  him,  he  pretended  that  he 
did  not  hear.  But  a  whistle  blew — a  police  whistle.  In- 
stantly ne  brought  up.  According  to  one  of  those  twelve 
laws  in  the  Handbook,  a  scout  is  obedient  to  "all  other 
iduly  constituted  authorities,"  and  Mr.  Perkins  had  ex- 
plained that  "constituted  authorities"  is  simply  a  big  word 
way,  and  a  nice  way,  of  saying  "cops."  Johnnie  turned 
about ;  and  there  was  the  large  figure  in  official  blue,  from 
whose  gray  mustache  a  whistle  was  at  that  moment  de- 
scending. 

The  policeman  was  standing  in  front  of  a  grocery  store. 
Shoulder  to  shoulder  with  him  was  another  man  who  was 
even  larger — taller,  and  wider,  and  thicker  through. 
About  this  man's  dress  there  was  something  strange.  He 
had  on  no  tie.  Instead,  laid  neatly  below  the  narrow  line 
of  his  white  collar  was  a  smooth  triangle  of  black. 

Johnnie  marched  straight  up  to  the  two.  "Yes,  sir?" 
he  said  to  the  patrolman.  (He  would  have  saluted  if  he 
had  had  a  free  hand.) 

The  patrolman  stared,  open-mouthed.  Naturally 
enough  he  had  jumped  to  the  conclusion,  as  some  others 


FATHER  PAT  237 

Had,  that  this  boy  in  cast-off  clothes  had  not  come  by  a 
valuable  bouquet  through  purchase.  He  had  expected 
that  Johnnie,  when  challenged,  would  promptly  take  to 
his  heels.  And  here ! 

The  gentleman  who  had  on  no  tie  was  also  staring  in 
amaze.  Externally  this  boy  with  the  roses  was  a  gut- 
tersnipe. But — who  in  all  his  life  ever  before  saw  a  gut- 
tersnipe with  eyes  so  lacking  in  cunning  and  roguery? 
eyes,  clear,  honest,  fearless,  manly?  "And  that  bright," 
the  gentleman  declared,  but  as  if  he  were  talking  only  to 
himself,  "that  ye  could  fair  light  a  candle  at  'era !" 

Johnnie  guessed  that  the  candle-lighting  eyes  were  his 
own.  His  ears  moved  perceptibly  backward  and  his  cheeks 
lifted  in  a  grin.  He  was  himself  looking  into  a  pair  that 
were  jolly  and  keen  and  kind — and  Irish.  A  soft  straw 
hat  shaded  them ;  and  short,  flaming-red  hair,  which  filled 
in  at  either  side  of  the  head  between  hat  and  ear,  served  to 
accentuate  the  green  that  tinged  their  mild  gray.  Below 
the  eyes  was  a  nose  unmistakably  pugged.  Lower  still, 
a  long  upper  lip  gave  to  a  mouth  (generous  in  size)  that, 
smiling,  showed  itself  to  be  full  of  dental  bridges  made  en- 
tirely of  gold. 

"Massy  gold !"  Johnnie  reflected  admiringly,  "like  the 
dishes  Aladdin's  got."  And  he  made  up  his  mind,  then 
and  there,  that  when  he  was  grown-up,  and  could  afford 
it,  he  would  have  gold  bridges. 

"And  where  d'  ye  think  ye're  goin'  wid  th'  roses?"  in- 
quired the  giant  in  the  blue  uniform,  managing  a  smile 
for  this  rarity  among  city  urchins. 

"No  'xact  where,"  replied  Johnnie. 

"Well,  then,  little  lad,  dear,"  said  the  other  man,  "is  it; 
lost  ye  are?  or  are  all  those  sassy  roses  just  coaxin'  ye  out 
into  the  sun?" 

Now  here  was  a  thought  that  appealed !  Johnnie's  eyes 
twinkled.  "Wouldn't  y'  both  like  t'  have  a  smell  of  'em?" 


238         THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

he  asked,  and  lifted  the  bouquet  temptingly.    "I  was  sent 
out  to  sell  'em." 

Now  witness  a  stern  guardian  of  the  peace,  who  but  a 
moment  ago  had  in  his  mind  the  thought  of  "landin'  a  bit 
of  a  thief,"  leaning  forward  to  take  a  breath  of  the  flow- 
ers. "Grand,"  he  agreed.  The  larger  man  took  off  his 
hat  before  he  bent  to  inhale.  "Dain-tee!"  he  cried,  with 
an  enthusiastic  shake  of  his  red  head ;  then  to  a  half-dozen 
small  loiterers  who  were  straining  to  hear,  "There !  there ! 
Run  along  now,  children  dear !  Ye're  wanted  at  the  tele- 
phone !" 

"I'll  be  tellin'  certain  folks  a  few  things  relatin'  t'  the 
sellin*  o'  this  or  that  on  the  street,"  now  observed  the 
policeman,  vaguely.  "Eh,  Father  Pat?" 

"I'll  be  glad  t'  go  along  with  ye,"  returned  the  other, 
"and  i£,  things  're  as  bad  as  they  look  t'  be,  then  it's 
Patrick  Mungovan  that'll  do  a  bit  o*  rakin' !"  He  settled 
the  straw  hat. 

"Just  where  d'  y'  live,  young  man?"  asked  the  police- 
man. 

Johnnie  had  guessed  from  the  tone  of  the  priest  that  a 
"rakin' "  was  something  not  altogether  pleasant ;  had 
concluded,  too,  that  it  would  fall  to  the  lot  of  Big  Tom.  So 
he  gave  the  address  gladly,  and  as  his  two  new  friends 
stepped  forward,  was  himself  ten  feet  away  in  a  flash,  and 
— going  in  the  wrong  direction! 

"Here,  now !  Here !"  called  the  officer  after  him,  at  once 
stern  and  suspicious.  "Don't  ye  be  leadin'  me  no  wild 
goose  chase !"  Johnnie  having  halted,  the  other  came  up 
to  him  and  seized  him  by  one  big  sleeve.  "Ye  tell  me  one 
thing,  and  ye  start  the  opp'site !  How's  that  ?" 

"I  guess  I  don't  know  where  I  am,"  admitted  Johnnie. 
"Y*  see,  I  don't  git  out  much,  and  so  I  don't  know  my 
way  good." 

"Now,  what  could  be  honester,  Clancy  ?"  chided  the  big- 


FATHER   PAT  239 

ger  man.  "Shure,  ye  can  see  by  the  color  o'  his  skin  that 
he's  a  shut-in. — So,  now,  square  about,  little  flower  ped- 
dler, but,  oh,  go  easy !  easy !  That  is,  if  ye  want  me  t'  go 
along,  or,  shure,  big  as  I  am,  and  fat " 

"Ye're  not  fat,  Father!"  denied  Clancy.  They  were 
all  under  way  now,  with  Johnnie  in  the  middle. 

"Well,  solid  then,"  amended  the  other,  breathing  hard. 
"Shure,  it's  me  that  cuts  up  a  big  piece  of  cloth  when  it 
comes  t'  clothes,  which  is  deceivin'  enough,  since  I'm  back 
from  the  war.  For  what's  a  man — and  never  mind  his 
size — if  his  lungs  is  gone?  or  goin'?" 

Johnnie  turned  upward  a  troubled  look.  "Did  y'  git 
hurt  in  the  war?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  maybe  ye  wouldn't  call  it  hurt,  exactly,"  an- 
swered the  Father.  "Shure,  they  didn't  let  out  anny  of 
the  blood  of  me,  but  'twould've  been  better,  I'm  thinkin',  if 
they  had.  No,  lad  dear,  they  sent  me  over  a  whiff  of  the 
gas,  the  wind  bein'  right  for  the  nasty  business,  and  I  had 
the  bad  taste  t'  swallow  it." 

As  they  fared  along,  Johnnie  kept  up  a  steady  chatter 
in  a  manner  that  was  obviously  friendly  and  cheerful,  this 
in  order  to  make  passersby  understand  that  his  return  was 
in  the  nature  of  another  triumph,  and  that  he  had  not  been 
arrested.  As  for  his  look  and  carriage,  they  were  those 
of  a  proud  boy. 

By  the  time  his  companions  had  learned  how  matters 
stood  in  the  flat,  the  three  had  reached  the  stairs  and  be- 
gun a  slow  climb.  With  the  caution  of  his  kind,  the  police- 
man did  not  allow  Johnnie  to  lead  the  way.  The  latter 
came  second  in  the  procession,  the  priest  toiling  last,  with 
much  puffing  and  many  a  grunt. 

The  progress  of  the  three  being  so  leisurely,  there  was 
time  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  building  to  hear  of  the  in- 
teresting pair  that  were  ascending  with  Johnnie  Smith,  and 
to  assemble  in  groups  at  the  landings,  while  excited  chat- 


240          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ter  wafted  the  dust  which  the  visitors  raised,  and  the  stairs 
creaked  alarmingly. 

When  the  Barber  door  was  reached,  the  representative 
of  the  law  paused — as  if  waiting  for  the  priest  to  come 
up.  In  reality,  standing  sidewise,  one  ear  close  to  a  panel, 
he  listened  to  what  was  going  on  inside.  As  Johnnie,  with 
the  bouquet  waving  against  his  breast,  came  to  a  halt  at 
the  official  heels,  he  heard  it  all,  too — a  roar  of  threats 
and  curses,  loud  stamping  to  and  fro  across  a  squeaking 
floor,  while  like  a  sad  accompaniment  to  a  harsh  tune  there 
sounded  a  low,  frightened  weeping. 

Johnnie  peered  up  into  the  policeman's  face.  Dark  as 
was  the  hall,  he  could  see  that  Mr.  Clancy's  visage  was 
stern.  Father  Pat  was  beside  them  now,  steadying  him- 
self by  a  hand  on  the  rickety  banister,  while  he  laid  the 
other  upon  his  breast  as  if  to  ease  his  panting.  His  look 
was  horrified. 

The  youngest  of  that  trio  rejoiced  that  Big  Tom  was 
acting  so  badly  just  at  this  time.  It  meant  that  the 
"rakin* "  would  surely  happen ;  and  after  Father  Pat  had 
done  his  part,  Johnnie  hoped  that  the  policeman  would 
arrest  the  longshoreman,  drag  him  away  to  prison,  and 
perhaps  even  whack  him  a  time  or  two  with  his  polished 
stick. 

These  possibilities  were  comforting. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AN  ALLY  CROSSES  A  SWORD 

OFFICER  CLANCY  did  not  wait  even  to  knock 
once  upon  the  Barber  door,  but  pushed  it  open 
sharply — discovering  Big  Tom  and  Cis,  face  to 
face  on  the  far  side  of  the  kitchen  table,  the  latter  with 
wet  cheeks,  while  her  shrinking,  wilted  young  figure  was 
swayed  backward  out  of  reach  of  the  huge  finger  which 
the  longshoreman  was  shaking  before  her  eyes.  >%  Beside 
her,  crouched  down  in  his  chair,  was  old  Grandpa,  peering 
out  between  the  folds  of  his  blanket  like  a  frightened 
kitten. 

The  interruption  halted  Big  Tom  halfway  of  a  stormy 
sentence,  and  he  turned  upon  the  entering  officer  a  coun- 
tenance dark  and  working.  (As  Father  Pat  said  after- 
ward, "Shure,  and  'twas  as  black  as  anny  colored  babe's 
in  Cherry  Street!")  However,  that  newly  shaved  visage 
lightened  instantly,  paling  at  sight  of  the  police-blue  and 
the  shield. 

The  officer  spoke  first.  "This  kid  belong  here?"  he 
asked. 

"Lives  here,"  admitted  Barber,  swallowing. 

"I  take  it  ye're  not  a  florist,"  went  on  Clancy. 

"I  ain't." 

"Ah!  In  that  case," — firmly — "yell  not  be  sendin1 
anny  boy  out  on  to  the  street  t'  sell  roses :  leastways,  not 
without  the  proper  license,  which  ye  can  ask  for  up  at 
City  Hall."  Next,  the  patrolman  gave  Johnnie  a  friendly 

241 


242          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

shove  toward  the  middle  of  the  room.  "Hand  the  posies 
t*  yer  sister,  young  man,"  he  commanded. 

Johnnie  darted  to  obey,  and  Cis  made  a  joyous  start 
toward  him.  Their  hands  touched,  and  the  roses  changed 
keeper. 

Meanwhile  Barber  had  gained  back  a  little  of  his  usual 
self-confidence.  "Oh,  all  right,"  he  remarked.  "But  we 
need  money  a  lot  more'n  flowers." 

"That's  as  it  may  be,"  conceded  Clancy,  dryly.  "But 
— the  law's  the  law,  and  I'll  just  tell  ye  this  much": — he 
emphasized  his  statement  by  pointing  the  stick — "ye're 
lucky  t'  'scape  a  fine !  Seein'  ye're  so  short  o'  cash !" 

Most  men,  as  Barber  liked  to  boast,  did  not  dare  to 
give  the  longshoreman  any  of  their  "lip."  But  now  he 
was  careful  to  accept  the  ultimatum  of  the  officer  without 
a  show  of  temper.  "Guess  I  am,"  he  assented. 

Clancy  nodded.  "And  I'll  see  ye  later,  Father  Pat?" 
he  inquired,  giving  the  priest  a  meaning  glance. 

"Please  God,"  replied  the  Father,  settling  himself  in 
the  morris  chair.  (He  knew  when  young  eyes  implored.) 

"I'll  say  good-day  t'  ye  all,"  went  on  the  policeman.  He 
gave  Johnnie  a  wink  and  Cis  a  smile  as  he  went  out. 

Father  Pat  now  took  off  his  hat.  In  such  cases  it  was 
well  to  "set  by"  till  the  storm  blew  over.  "I'm  thinkin'  I 
met  ye  on  the  docks  one  day,"  he  observed  cordially  enough 
to  Big  Tom.  "  'Twas  the  time  there  was  trouble  over 
the  loadin'  of  the  Mary  Jane." 

Barber  was  chewing.  "Y*  had  that  honor,"  he  returned, 
a  trifle  sarcastic. 

"Ha-ha!"  laughed  the  Father.  But  there  was  a  flash 
of  something  not  too  friendly  in  his  look.  "Honor,  was 
it?  I'm  glad  ye  told  me!  For  meself,  shure,  I  can't  al- 
ways be  certain  whether  'tis  that — or  maybe  just  the 
opposite !" 

"7  can  be  sure,"  went  on  the  longshoreman.    He  sucked 


243 

his  teeth  belligerently.  "I  know  when  I'm  honoreH,  and 
also  when  I'm  not." 

"Is  it  like  that?"  retorted  Father  Pat  smoothly. 
"Then  I'll  say  ye're  smarter  than  I  judged  ye  was  from 
seein'  ye  put  a  lad  on  to  the  street  t'  sell  flowers  of  a 
Sunday  mornin'." 

To  Cis  this  passage  between  the  men  was  all  pure  agony. 
She  dropped  down  beside  Grandpa's  chair,  and  stayed 
there,  half  hidden.  But  it  was  not  misery  for  Johnnie. 
He  had  rightly  guessed  what  the  "rakin'  "  would  be,  and 
for  whom.  And  now  it  was  going  forward,  and  he  wel- 
comed it. 

It  was  then  that  it  came  over  him  how  different  was  this 
newest  friend  from  his  other  two !  One-Eye  always  left 
Johnnie  puzzled  as  to  his  real  opinion  of  the  longshore- 
man, this  through  saying  just  the  opposite  of  ^jhat  he 
meant.  Mr.  Perkins,  on  the  other  hand,  did  not  express 
himself  at  all ;  in  fact,  almost  ignored  Barber's  existence. 
But  Father  Pat !  Not  even  old  Grandpa  could  be  in  doubt 
as  to  how  the  priest  felt  toward  the  longshoreman. 

"Oh,  don't  you  worry  about  this  kid,"  advised  Big  Tom. 
"I  git  mighty  little  out  o'  him." 

Father  Pat  stared.  Then,  bluntly,  "Shure,  now,  don't 
tell  me  that !  Ye  know,  I  can  see  his  big  hands." 

Johnnie's  hands,  at  that  moment,  were  hanging  in  front 
of  him,  the  fingers  knotted.  He  glanced  down  at  them. 
He  had  never  thought  of  them  as  being  large,  but  now 
he  realized  that  they  were.  What  was  worse,  they  seemed 
to  be  getting  bigger  and  bigger  all  of  a  sudden !  The  way 
they  were  swelling  made  him  part  them  and  slip  them  be- 
hind his  back. 

"When  I  was  a  shaver,  I  didn't  have  no  time  t'  be  a 
dude !"  asserted  Big  Tom.  "And  this  kid  ain't  no  better'n 
me!" 

"As  a  man,"  answered  the  Father,  "shure,  and  I  hope 


24,4,         THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

he'll  be  better  than  the  two  o'  us  put  t'gether!  Because 
if  the  boys  and  girls  don't  improve  upon  the  alder  folks, 
how  is  this  world  t'  git  better,  t'  advance?"  As  he  spoke, 
his  look  went  swiftly  round  the  room. 

Barber  laughed.  "Well,  I  can  tell  y'  one  thing  about 
him,"  he  said.  "He  won't  never  make  a  longshoreman — the 
little  runt !" 

At  that,  Father  Pat  fairly  shot  to  his  feet,  and  taking 
a  forward  step,  hung  over  Big  Tom,  his  green  eyes  black, 
his  freckled  face  as  crimson  as  his  hair.  "Runt  is  it !"  he 
cried.  "Runt!  And  I'll  ask  ye  why,  Mr.  Tom  Barber? 
Because  ye've  kept  him  shut  up  in  this  black  place!  Be- 
cause ye've  cheated  him  out  o'  decent  food,  and  fresh  air, 
and  the  flirtin*  up  o'  his  boy's  heels!  Does  he  find  time 
t'  play?  Has  he  got  friends?  Not  if  ye  can  help  it! 
Oh,  I  can  read  all  the  little  story  o'  him — the  sad,  starved, 
pitiful,  lonely,  story  o'  him!" 

Barber  got  up  slowly,  laying  down  his  pipe.  "I  guess 
I  know  a  few  things  I've  done  for  him,"  he  answered  ang- 
rily. "And  I  don't  want  abuse  for  them,  neither!  He's 
got  a  lot  t'  be  thankful  for!" 

"Thankful,  yer  Grandmother!"  raged  the  Father,  but 
somewhat  breathlessly.  "I  don't  want  t'  hear  yer  excuses, 
nor  what  ye've  done!  I  can  see  through  ye  just  as  if  ye 
was  a  pane  o'  glass !  It's  the  carin'  for  the  old  man  with- 
out a  penny  o'  cost  that  ye've  thought  about!  It's  the 
makin'  o'  a  few  flowers  for  a  few  cents !" — he  pointed  to 
the  table — "when  the  lad  ought  t'  be  at  his  books! 
Greed's  at  the  bottom  o'  what  ye  do — not  only  workin' 
the  lad  too  hard  for  his  strength,  but  cheatin'  him  out  o' 
his  school !" 

"I  guess  that's  all,"  said  Barber,  quietly.  "I'll  ask  y» 
t'  cut  it." 

"Ill  cut  nothin'!"  cried  the  priest.  "These  five  years 
ye've  been  waitin'  for  a  man  t'  come  and  tell  ye  the  truth. 


AN  ALLY  CROSSES  A   SWORD  245 

Well,  I'm  only  what's  left  o'  a  man,  but  the  truth  is  on 
me  tongue !  And  it's  comin'  off,  Tom  Barber, — it's  comin' 
off !  Shut  up  another  lad  like  ye've  shut  him,  thrash  him, 
and  half  starve  him  in  his  mind  and  his  body,  and  see  what 
ye'd  get!  Ye'd  get  an  idiot,  that's  what  ye'd  get!  The 
average  lad  couldn't  stand  it !  Not  the  way  this  boy  has ! 
Because  why?  I'll  tell  ye:  ye've  made  his  home  a  prison, 
and  ye've  dressed  him  like  a  beggar,  but  ye've  never  been 
able  t'  keep  his  brain  and  his  soul  from  growin'!  Ye've 
never  been  able  t'  lock  them  up !  Nor  dress  them  badly ! 
And  God  be  thanked  for  it!" 

"A-a-a-w!"  snarled  Barber.  "I  wish  all  7  had  t'  do 
was  t'  go  from  flat  t'  flat  and  talk  sermons !" 

"Ye  wish  that,  do  ye?"  cried  the  Father,  rumpling  his 
red  hair  from  the  back  of  his  neck  upward.  "Well,  shure, 
ye  don't  know  what  ye're  talkin'  about!  For  ther,p  isn't 
annything  harder  than  talkin'  t'  folks  that  haven't  the 
sense  or  the  decency  t'  do  what's  right.  And  also — no 
rascal  pines  t'  be  watched!" 

Barber  stared.     "What's  y're  grudge?"  he  demanded. 

"A  grudge  is  what  I've  got !"  replied  Father  Pat.  "It's 
the  kind  I  hold  against  anny  man  who  mistreats  children ! 
And  while  I  live  and  draw  breath,  which  won't  be  long, 
I'll  fight  that  kind  o'  a  man  whenever  I  meet  him!  And 
I'll  charge  him  with  his  sin,  so  help  me  God,  before  the 
very  bar  o'  Heaven!" 

Big  Tom  shrugged.  "Y'  ain't  a  well  man,"  he  said; 
"and  then  again,  y'  happen  t'  be  a  priest.  For  both 
which  reasons  I  don't  want  no  trouble  with  y'.  So  I'll  be 
obliged  if  y'll  hire  a  hall,  or  find  somebody  else  t'  scold, 
and  let  up  on  me  for  a  change.  This  is  Sunday,  and 
I'd  like  a  little  rest." 

Father  Pat  went  a  foot  nearer  to  the  longshoreman. 
"Because  I'm  a  priest,"  he  answered,  "I'll  not  be  neglectin' 
me  duty.  Ye  can  drive  away  scoutmasters,  and  others 


246         THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

that  clon't  feel  they've  got  a  right  t'  tell  ye  the  trutK  in 
yer  own  house,  but" — he  tapped  his  chest — "here's  one  man 
ye  won't  drive  away!" 

Big  Tom  reached  for  his  pipe  and  his  hat.  "Well, 
stay  then !"  he  returned. 

"Stay?  That  I  will!"  cried  the  Father.  "The  lad  and 
the  girl,  they've  got  a  friend  that's  goin'  t'  stick  as  long 
as  his  lungs'll  let  him." 

"Good!"  mocked  the  longshoreman.  "Fine!"  He 
pushed  his  hat  down  over  the  stubble  of  his  hair,  and  went 
out,  slamming  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
THE  END  OF  A  LONG  DAY 

ALONG  moment  of  breathless  silence — while  four 
pairs  of  eyes  fixed  themselves  upon  the  hall  door, 
and  as  many  pairs  of  ears  strained  to  follow  the 
creak  and  clump  of  Big  Tom's  departure.  The  sound  of 
his  steps  died  away.  Another,  and  a  longer,  wait,  and  the 
door  moved  and  rattled,  that  signal  which  marked  the 
opening  and  shutting  of  the  area  door  three  flights,Jbelow. 
The  longshoreman  was  really  gone.  Cis  laid  her  forehead 
against  an  arm  of  the  wheel  chair,  and  burst  into  tears, 
clinging  to  old  Grandpa,  and  trembling,  and  frightening 
him  into  weeping ;  whereupon  Johnnie  hurried  to  them,  and 
alternately  patted  them  comfortingly,  and  Father  Pat 
came  to  stand  over  the  three. 

"Dear !  dear !  dear !"  exclaimed  the  priest.  "But  ain't 
I  glad  that  I  came,  though!  Shure,  the  big  baboon  was 
ugly!  Ha-ha-a-a!  And  when  he's  like  that,  faith,  and 
how  he  throws  the  coconuts !" 

That  fetched  the  smiles,  even  from  Cis.  And,  "Oh-ho! 
Here  comes  the  sun!"  cried  the  Father,  beaming  joyously 
at  them  all.  "Shure,  we've  had  the  thunderstorm,  and 
the  air's  clear,  and  so  all  the  kittens  dear  can  come  out 
o'  their  corners,  and  frisk  a  bit!  Faith,  I  wasn't  half  as 
mad  as  I  sounded.  No,  I  wasn't,  old  gentleman!  (And 
what's  that  he's  holdin'  on  to?  Bless  me  soul,  is  it  a 
doll?)"  Then  having  taken  up  Letitia,  and  turned  her 
about,  and  chuckled  over  her,  and  given  her  into  Grand- 

247 


248          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 


hands  again,  "It's  only  thai:  our 
rampin'  Mr.  Barber,"  he  explained,  "wouldn't  understand 
me  if  I  didn't  give  him  a  bit  o'  the  rough  edge  o'  me 
tongue — no,  nor  respect  me,  neither!  So  I  laid  it  on  a 
mite  thick ! — Oh,  that  man !  Say,  he'd  sell  the  tears  right 
out  o'  yer  eye !  Yes,  he  would !  He'd  sell  yer  eyelashes  t' 
make  a  broom  for  a  fly!" 

"Big  Tom,  he  makes  me  awful  'fraid  sometimes,"  con- 
fessed Johnnie.  "But  he  makes  Cis  lots  'fraider,  'cause 
she's  only  a  girl." 

"A  girl !"  cried  the  Father.  "And  ye  think  bein'  a  girl 
is  anny  good  reason  for  bein'  afraid  ?  Faith,  little  friend, 
have  ye  not  got  hold  o'  a  wrong  notion  entirely  about 
girls  ?"  Then  seeing  that  here  was  an  opportunity  to  take 
the  thoughts  of  these  two  harried  ones  away  from  them- 
selves, ^"Children  dear,"  he  went  on,  "all  this  about  girls 
who  are  afraid  reminds  me  o'  a  certain  story.  'Twas  in 
Belgium  it  happened,  a  few  years  back,  and  in  the  city  o' 
Brussels,  which  is  the  capital.  Oh,  'tis  a  grand  and  & 
sorrowful  story !  So !  Come  now !"  He  wheeled  Grandpa 
to  a  place  beside  the  morris  chair,  signed  Cis  to  take  the 
kitchen  chair,  helped  Johnnie  to  a  perch  on  the  table,  and 
sat  again,  the  others  drawn  about  his  red  head  like  so 
many  moths  around  a  cheerful  lamp. 

It  was  just  as  the  tale  of  Edith  Cavell  ended  that,  most 
opportunely,  who  should  come  stealing  in  but  Mrs.  Kukor, 
pushing  the  door  open  with  a  slippered  foot,  for  each  hand 
held  a  dish.  The  exciting  events  which  had  transpired 
in  the  Barber  flat  being  common  property  up  and  down 
the  area  building,  naturally  she  knew  them;  also,  leaned 
out  of  her  own  window,  she  had  heard  more  than  enough. 
The  paleness  of  her  round  face  told  how  anxious  she  was. 

The  priest  stood  up.  "I'm  Father  Patrick  Mungovan, 
at  3rer  service,  ma'am,"  he  said,  bowing  gravely. 

Mrs.  Kukor  first  wiped  both  plump  hands  upon  a  black 


THE  END  OF  A  LONG  DAY  249 

sateen  apron.  Then  she  extended  one  of  them  to  the 
priest.  "Glat  to  meet !"  she  declared  heartily.  "Und  glat 
you  wass  come!" 

The  Father  shook  hands  warmly.  "Shure,  ma'am,"  he 
declared,  "our  two  young  folks  is  likely  not  t*  suffer  for 
lookin'  after  from  now  on,  I'm  thinkin',  what  with  our  little 
League  o'  Nations." 

Tears  welled  into  Mrs.  Kukor's  black  eyes.  "Over 
Chonnie  und  Cis,"  she  declared,  "all  times  I  wass  full  of 
love.  Only" — she  lifted  a  short,  fat  finger — "nefer  I  haf 
talk  my  Hebrew  religions  mit !" 

Father  Pat  gave  her  another  bow,  and  a  gallant  one. 
"Faith,  Mrs.  Kukor,"  said  he,  "the  good  Lord  I  worship 
was  a  Hebrew  lad  from  the  hills  o'  Judea." 

Next,  Mrs.  Kukor  had  a  look  at  the  roses,  whose  frag- 
rance she  inhaled  with  many  excited  exclamations  »of  de- 
light. After  that,  there  was  ice  cream  and  raisin  cake, 
enough  for  all.  Every  one  served,  the  priest  and  Mrs. 
Kukor  were  soon  chatting  away  in  the  friendliest  fashion. 

It  was  then  that  a  regrettable  accident  occurred.  In 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  ice  cream  was  in  a  melting  condi- 
tion, and  the  cake  deliciously  soft  and  crumbling,  one  of 
those  several  dental  bridges  of  the  Father's  suddenly  be- 
came detached,  as  it  were,  from  its  moorings,  and  had  to 
be  rolled  up  in  one  corner  of  a  handkerchief  and  con- 
signed to  a  pocket.  Amid  general  condolences  then,  the 
priest  explained  that  the  happening  was  not  wholly  un- 
expected, since,  in  choosing  a  dentist,  he  had  let  his  heart, 
rather  than  his  head,  guide  his  selection,  and  had  given 
the  work  to  an  old  and  struggling  man  whose  methods 
were  undoubtedly  obsolete.  "But  ye  see,"  he  concluded, 
"I  knew  at  the  time  that  the  work  would  far  outlast  the 
necessity  for  it,  since  I'll  not  be  needin*  anny  teeth  very 
long" — a  statement  the  full  meaning  of  which  fortunately 
escaped  the  comprehension  of  his  two  young  hearers.  "But 


250          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ye  might  say,"  he  went  on,  "that  neither  the  cake  nor  the 
cream  have  put  a  strain  on  that  bridge,  so  I'll  not  be 
blamin'  the  dentist.  For  ye  see,  it's  like  this:  when  I've 
somethin'  betwixt  me  teeth  that's  substantial,  the  danger 
to  the  bridges  is  far  less.  It's  when  I've  nothin'  that  I  do 
them  the  most  damage,  havin'  so  much  grip  t'  me  jaws, 
and  not  annything  t'  work  it  out  on." 

Mrs.  Kukor  now  rose  to  take  her  leave,  explaining  how 
it  happened  that  she  did  not  want  to  have  Mr.  Barber 
discover  her  there,  since,  if  the  longshoreman  were  to 
decide  that  she  was  interfering  in  any  way — too  much — he 
might,  she  feared,  remove  his  household  to  some  other,  and 
distant,  flat,  where  she  could  not  be  near  the  children — oy ! 
oy !  oy ! 

Father  Pat  gave  her  his  address.  "Some  day,"  he  ide- 
claredf  J'ye  might  be  wantin'  t'  send  me  a  picture  post  card, 
in  which  case  ye'd  need  t'  know  where  I  live" — a  remark 
which  made  Johnnie  believe  that  the  Father  must  be  par- 
ticularly fond  of  picture  post  cards!  "But  now  and 
again,  I'll  drop  in  t'  see  ye,"  promised  the  priest,  "and  t' 
have  a  cup  o'  kosher  tea !  Shure,  ma'am,  in  anny  trouble- 
some matter,  two  heads  is  better  than  one,  even  if  one 
has  been  gassed!" 

Mrs.  Kukor  gone,  Father  Pat  began  to  take  thought 
of  his  own  leaving.  But  first  he  set  about  cheering  up  his 
new,  young  friends,  who  were  subdued,  to  say  the  least, 
this  in  spite  of  the  refreshments.  "Now,  shure,  and  there's 
things  about  this  place  which  could  be  far,  far  worse," 
he  asserted.  "In  this  shady  bit  o'  flat,  ye're  shut  up,  I 
grant  it.  But  consider  what  ye're  shut  away  from — ugly 
things,  like  fightin'  and  callin'  names" — his  argument  be- 
ing intended  chiefly  for  Johnnie. 

"And  I  don't  mind  about  my  old  clothes,"  declared  the 
latter  stoutly.  "Anyhow,  I  don't  mind  'cause  they're 
raggy.  All  I'm  sorry  for  is  that  my  rags  don't  fit." 


THE  END  OF  A  LONG  DAY  251 

Afterward  he  concluded  that  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing rather  sensible  about  this  remark  of  his — some- 
thing calculated  to  win  approval.  For  the  Father  sud- 
denly reached  out  and  took  Johnnie  into  his  arms,  and 
gave  him  a  bearish  hug,  and  laughed,  and  wiped  the  green 
eyes  (which  were  brimming),  and  laughed  again,  finally 
falling  into  a  coughing  fit  that  sent  Johnnie  pell-mell  for 
a  cup  of  water  and  made  Cis  wait  in  concern  beside  the 
morris  chair. 

The  cough  quieted  soon,  and  again  Father  Pat  was  able 
to  talk.  "Did  ye  ever  hear  another  lad  like  him?"  he 
inquired  of  no  one  in  particular.  "Ah,  God  love  him! 
He  doesn't  mind  his  rags,  only  he  wishes  that  they  fit ! 
Dear,  dear,  rich,  little,  poor  boy !" 

After  he  was  gone,  Johnnie  and  Cis  sat  in  silence  for  a 
good  while,  their  young  hearts  being  too  full,  and  their 
brains  too  busy,  for  speech.  But  at  last,  "Oh,  why  didn't 
we  ever  know  him  before !"  mourned  Cis.  "He  lives  close 
by,  and  he's  not  afraid  of  anything!" 

"He's  my  friend  for  life!"  vowed  Johnnie.  "And,  oh, 
Cis,  this  is  who's  like  Galahad!  — not  Mister  Perkins  at 
all\  Mister  Perkins  is  like — like  Sir  Percival,  that's  who 
he's  like.  But  Father  Pat  (don't  y'  love  the  name!)  he 
could  sit  on  the  Per'lous  Seat,  y'  betcher  life ! — Oh,  if  only 
his  hair  wasn't  red !" 

When  she  had  assured  him  that  red  was  a  most  desirable 
color  for  hair,  since  it  meant  a  splendid  fighting  spirit, 
he  had  to  know  all  she  could  tell  him  about  priests,  which 
was  a  good  deal.  "They  can  marry  you,  and  they  can 
bury  you,"  she  began.  "And  they  preach,  and  pray  about 
a  hundred  times  as  much  as  anybody  else,  and  that's  one 
reason  why  he's  so  good.  If  you've  done  anything  wicked, 
though,  you've  got  to  tell  a  priest  about  it,  and- 

"I'll  tell  him  about  the  toothbrush,"  promised  Johnnie. 


252          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"I  won't  mind  tellin'  him,  some  way  or  other,  anyhow,  and 
it's  bothered  me,  Cis,  quite  a  lot — oh,  yes,  it  has !" 

Cis  did  not  mind  the  Father's  knowing  about  their  bar- 
gain ;  provided,  however,  that  she  herself  be  allowed  to 
tell  Mr.  Perkins.  She  felt  better  already  in  her  conscience, 
she  declared,  and  even  sang  as  she  set  about  rearranging 
her  roses.  Each  one  of  these  she  named  with  a  girl's 
name,  Johnnie  assisting;  and  the  two  were  able,  by  the 
curl  of  a  petal,  or  the  number  of  leaves  on  a  stem,  or  some 
other  tiny  sign,  to  tell  Cora  from  Alice,  and  Elaine  from 
Blanchefleur,  and  the  Princess  Mary  from  Buddir  al 
Buddoor,  as  well  as  to  recognize  Rebecca,  and  Julia,  and 
Anastasia,  and  Gertie,  and  June — and  so  on  through  a 
list  that  made  little  godmothers  to  the  rosebuds  out  of 
Cis's  favorite  acquaintances  at  the  paper-box  factory. 

Big  Tom  had  little  to  say  when  he  returned,  but  that 
little  was  pleasant  enough.  When  he  went  to  bed,  he  left 
his  door  wide.  Grandpa  had  been  allowed  to  stay  beside 
the  kitchen  window,  and  there  Cis  brought  a  quilt  and 
pillow,  her  own  room  being  unbearably  close  and  hot.  As 
for  Johnnie,  quite  openly  and  boldly  he  shouldered  his 
roll  of  bedding  and  took  it  to  the  roof !  ( For  after  what 
Father  Pat  had  told  them  that  day,  could  he,  being  a  boy, 
fail  to  do  the  daring  thing?  Also,  were  they  not  now  under 
the  protecting  care  of  a  red-headed  fighter?) 

Arrived  on  the  roof,  he  did  not  lie  down,  but  walked  to 
and  fro.  A  far-off  band  was  playing  in  the  summer  night, 
at  some  pier  or  in  an  open  space,  and  its  music  could  be 
faintly  heard.  Children  were  shouting  as  they  returned 
from  the  Battery.  The  grind  of  street  cars  came  in  low 
waves,  not  unlike  the  rhythmic  beat  of  the  seas  which  he 
had  never  seen.  He  shut  his  ears  to  every  sound.  East- 
ward loomed  up  the  iron  network  of  the  bridges,  delicate 
and  beautiful  against  the  starlit  sky.  South,  and  near  by, 
clustered  the  masts  of  scores  of  ships.  North  and  West 


THE   END   OF  A  LONG  DAY  253 

were  the  sky-piercing  tops  of  the  city's  highest  buildings. 
Sights  as  well  as  sounds  were  softened  and  glorified  by  the 
night,  and  by  distance.  But  he  saw — as  he  heard — noth- 
ing of  what  was  around  him.  He  felt  himself  lifted  high 
above  it  all — away  from  it. 

That  was  because  his  spirit  was  uplifted.  Just  as  Big 
Tom,  with  his  harsh  methods,  his  ignorance,  his  lack  of 
sympathy  and  his  surly  tongue,  could  bring  out  any  trait 
that  was  bad  in  him,  and  at  the  same  time  plant  a  few  that 
did  not  exist,  just  so  could  Father  Pat,  kindly,  wise,  gen- 
tle, gracious  and  manly,  bring  out  every  trait  that  was 
good.  And  for  a  while  at  least,  the  priest  had  downed 
and  driven  out  every  vestige  of  hatred  and  bitterness  and 
revenge  from  the  boy's  heart. 

Johnnie  did  not  even  think  of  Barber,  or  what  the  long- 
shoreman had  done  that  day.  In  his  brain  was  a  picture 
which  thrilled  and  held  him,  if  at  the  same  time  it  tortured 
him — a  picture  that  he  saw  too  keenly,  and  that  would  not 
go  away.  It  was  of  that  brave  Englishwoman,  face  to 
face  with  her  executioners. 

What  a  story! 

He  shook  his  head  over  it,  comparing  it  with  Treasure 
Island  and  all  the  others,  and  wishing  he  had  it  written 
down,  and  marveling  again  over  the  rare  courage  of  its 
heroine.  To  be  scolded  and  whipped  was  one  thing;  it 
was  quite  another  to  be  stood  up  against  a  wall  in  front 
of  a  line  of  guns.  And  he  remembered  that  he — a  boy — 
had  not  been  able,  this  very  day,  to  take  even  a  strapping ! 
What  if  he  had  been  asked  to  accept  death? 

How  far  away — yes,  as  if  it  were  days  and  days  ago ! 
— seemed  that  order  of  Big  Tom's  to  go  out  and  sell  Cis's 
flowers!  That  was  because  this  wonderful,  heart-moving 
tragedy  of  Edith  CavelPs  had  happened  in  between !  As 
the  sky  slowly  became  overcast,  and  the  darkness  deepened, 


254-          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

he  set  himself  to  think  the  nurse  there  on  the  roof  beside 
him — a  whiteclad,  slender  figure. 

He  had  done  her  a  wrong  in  questioning  the  bravery  of 
girls,  and  she  had  died  with  her  hands  tied!  "Oh,  my!" 
he  breathed  apologetically  to  the  picture  which  his  im- 
agination made  of  her,  "if  I  was  only  half  as  brave  as  you !" 

He  could  keep  her  there  before  him  not  longer  than  a 
moment.  Then  she  wavered  and  went,  and  he  found  him- 
self standing  beside  his  blanket  roll.  Though  he  covered 
his  eyes  to  make  his  pretend  more  vivid,  she  would  not 
return. 

However,  she  was  to  come  again  one  day — to  come  and 
sustain  him  in  an  hour  of  dreadful  trial  that  was  ahead, 
though  now,  mercifully,  he  did  not  know  it.  And  there 
was  to  be  another  story,  just  as  thrilling,  if  not  more  so, 
whichtalso  would  help  him  in  that  hour;  and,  later  on, 
would  carry  him  through  darker  ones. 

With  new  visions  in  his  brain,  and  new  resolutions  in 
his  boy's  heart,  he  took  up  the  bedding  bundle  and  went 
back  to  the  flat.  There  he  fell  asleep  in  a  room  where 
seventeen  pink  rosebuds  spread  their  perfume. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ANOTHER  GIFT 

NEXT  morning  it  was  plain  that  the  roses  had 
brought  about  certain  differences  in  the  flat.  Not 
that  there  were  any  blunt  orders,  or  quarrels. 
Barber  did  not  bring  up  the  subject  of  Mr.  Perkins  and 
his  gift ;  in  fact,  he  did  not  even  address  Cis  once,  though 
he  eyed  her  covertly  now  and  again.  But  the  good  break- 
fast which  Johnnie  had  risen  early  to  prepare  was  eaten 
in  a  quiet  that  was  strained,  as  if  a  storm  were  aoout  to 
brtak.  Johnnie  could  not  keep  his  heart  from  thumping 
unpleasantly.  And  he  was  limp  with  relief  when,  a  mo- 
ment or  two  after  Cis  took  her  departure,  the  longshore- 
man went  scuffing  out. 

Then  Johnnie's  recovery  was  swift.  On  waking  he  had 
whisked  the  flowers  into  Cis's  room,  guessing  that  the  mere 
sight  of  them  would  annoy  Barber.  Now  he  fetched  them 
out,  let  Grandpa  enjoy  a  whiff  of  their  perfume,  poured 
them  fresh  water  (they  held  it  like  so  many  cups!),  and 
carried  them  to  the  window  so  they  might  breathe  some 
outdoor  air.  As  it  happened,  that  little  girl  with  the  dark 
hair  was  sitting  on  her  fire  escape.  Spying  her,  Johnnie 
waved  the  blossoms  at  her,  receiving  in  return  a  flashing 
smile. 

He  did  not  tarry  long  at  the  window.  A  scout  does 
not  fail  to  do  a  given  task ;  and  on  this  summer  day,  with 
the  early  sky  already  a  hot  gray-blue,  the  task  to  be  done 
was  the  washing.  Heat  or  no  heat,  the  boiler  had  to 

255 


256          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

take  its  place  on  the  stove.  The  soapy  steam  of  the  cook- 
ing drove  out  the  roses's  scent  of  course,  but  that  did  not 
greatly  matter  so  long  as,  every  minute  or  so,  Johnnie 
was  able  to  turn  from  his  washboard  and  enjoy  their  pink 
beauty. 

By  eleven  o'clock  he  had  the  washing  on  the  line.  The 
flat  was  straightened  up,  too,  and  Grandpa  was  looking 
his  best.  About  noon,  Father  Pat,  coming  slowly  up  the 
three  flights,  heard  a  series  of  slam  hangings  coming  from 
the  direction  of  the  Barber  flat — also,  sharp  toot-toots, 
and  heavy  chugs.  And  when  the  priest  opened  the  hall 
door  and  peeped  in,  a  conductor's  bell  was  ding-dinging, 
while  the  empty  wood  box  was  careening  madly  in  the 
wake  of  the  wheel  chair. 

"Ha-ha-a!  Johnnie  lad!"  he  hailed.  "And,  shure,  is 
it  a  whfle  battery  in  action  that  I'm  seein'?" 

Johnnie  turned  a  pink  and  perspiring  face  which  was 
suddenly  all  smiles.  To  the  joy  of  living  a  fascinating 
think  was  now  added  the  joy  of  finding  still  another  per- 
son who  was  ready  to  share  it.  "It's  the  biggest  N'York 
S'press!"  he  declared.  "And  we're  takin'  our  vacation 
trip!" 

"Ah,  little  pretender!"  exclaimed  the  Father,  fondly, 
and  with  something  like  a  note  of  pity.  "But,  oh,  the 
idea  o'  me  not  recognizin'  a  train!  And  especially  the 
Twentieth  Century  Limited  when  I  look  her  right  in  the 
headlight!" 

"We  been  t'  the  Ad'rondacks,"  informed  Johnnie,  "and 
we  got  a  load  o'  ice." 

"Ah,  and  that's  treasure,  truly,"  agreed  the  Father, 
"on  this  scorchin'  day!  And  ye've  put  the  same  into  a 
grand  casket,  if  I'm  not  mistaken" — indicating  the  box. 

"A  casket  o'  wood." 

"But  precious,  what  with  coal  so  high !" 

When  the  priest  had  settled  himself  in  the  morris  chair, 


ANOTHER    GIFT  257 

Johnnie  came  to  lean  close  to  this  new  friend  who  was 
both  an  understanding  and  a  sympathetic  soul.  "Want 
t'  hear  a  secret?"  he  half  whispered. 

Father  Pat  was  as  mysterious  as  possible.  "Shure,  and 
'tis  me  business  t'  hear  secrets,"  he  whispered  back.  "And 
what's  more,  I  never  tell!" 

"Well,"  confided  Johnnie,  "there's  a  lot  o'  my  friends 
— Jim  Hawkins,  and  Galahad,  and  Uncas,  and,  oh,  dozens 
o'  others — all  just  ready  t'  come  in!" 

"No-o-o-o !" 

"Honest!" 

"Galahad,  too! — him  with  the  grand  scarlet  robe,  and 
the  chain  mail  t'  the  knees,  and  the  locks  as  bright  as  yer 
own!  Well,  I'm  that  glad  t'  hear  it!  and  that  excited!" 

Breathing  a  warning,  Johnnie  sped  to  the  sink,  rapped 
once,  then  twice,  then  once  again.  A  short  wait,  followed 
by  soft  pad-pads  on  the  floor  overhead.  Next  down  into 
sight  at  the  window  came  the  basket,  filled  to  the  top  with 
books. 

At  sight  of  the  basket,  for  some  reason  Father  Pat 
suddenly  seemed  anxious;  and  as  Johnnie  drew  it  to  the 
window  sill,  the  priest  pried  himself  up  out  of  the  big 
chair.  "Shure,  'tis  diwlement!"  he  pronounced.  "Yet 
still  'tis  grand!  Only  keep  'em  all  right  there,  lad  dear, 
and  I'll  come  over  t'  be  introduced." 

Proudly  and  impressively  Johnnie  proffered  first  his 
Aladdin.  Nodding  delightedly,  the  Father  took  it.  "Yes, 
'tis  the  very  same  Aladdin!"  he  declared.  "Ye  know,  I 
was  afraid  maybe  the  Aladdin  I  know  and  this  one  were 
two  diff'rent  gentlemen.  But,  no! — Oh,  in  the  beginnin' 
weren't  ye  afraid,  little  reader  dear,  that  this  friend  o' 
ours  would  end  up  wrong?  and  be  lazy  and  disobedient  t' 
the  last,  gaddin'  the  streets  when  he  ought  t'  be  helpin'  his 
mamma  ?" 

"But  he  turned  out  fine!"  reminded  Johnnie. 


258          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Now  the  other  precious  volumes  had  their  introduction. 
And,  "All  bread — rale  bread !"  said  the  Father  as  he  looked 
at  them.  "Not  stones !  No !"  But  he  handed  them  back 
rather  too  quickly,  according  to  Johnnie's  idea.  However, 
the  latter  was  to  know  why  at  once;  for  with  a  sharp 
glance  toward  the  hall  door,  "Now,  who  d*  ye  think  was 
sittin'  on  a  step  in  front  o'  the  house  as  I  came  in — his 
dinner  pail  'twixt  his  two;  feet?"  asked  the  priest.  "The 
big  ogre  himself!" 

"Oh !"  The  pipe  rang  to  Johnnie's  hurried  knockings, 
which  he  repeated  in  such  a  panic  that  Mrs.  Kukor  could 
be  heard  rocking  about  in  excited  circles.  And  it  seemed 
minutes  (though  it  was  not  half  of  one)  before  the  basket- 
strings  tightened  and  the  books  went  jerking  up  to  safety. 
Then,  "My !  What  if  he'd  walked  in  while  they  was  down !" 
Johnnit'  exclaimed.  "And  why  didn't  he  go  t'  work? 
What's  he  waitin'  for?" 

They  had  the  same  explanation  at  the  same  moment. 
Mr.  Perkins!  So  what  might  not  happen,  down  there  in 
the  area,  when  the  longshoreman,  lying  in  wait  for  his 
victim,  stopped  the  giver  of  bouquets? 

Something  besides  the  heat  of  midday  made  Johnnie 
feel  very  weak  of  a  sudden,  so  that  he  had  to  sit  down. 
"Now,  shush!  shush!"  comforted  the  Father.  "Shure, 
and  the  ogre'll  not  be  eatin'  up  anny  scoutmaster  this 
day.  No,  no.  There'll  be  nothin'  more  than  a  tongue- 
lashin',  so  breathe  easy,  lad  dear!" 

"But  Mister  Perkins  won't  come  any  more!"  argued 
Johnnie,  plaintively.  "And  so  how'll  I  finish  learnin'  t' 
be  a  scout?  Oh,  Father  Pat !" 

While  the  next  hour  went  by,  it  was  an  anxious  little 
figure  that  sat  opposite  the  priest,  listening,  listening — for 
some  loud  angry  words  out  of  the  area,  or  heavy  steps  upon 
the  stairs.  That  entrance  below  could  not  be  seen  from 
the  window.  And  Johnnie  could  not  bring  himself  to  go 


ANOTHER   GIFT  259 

down.  One  o'clock  came  and  passed.  But  Mr.  Perkins 
did  not  come.  So,  undoubtedly,  Big  Tom  had  seen  the 
scoutmaster.  But  whatever  had  happened,  all  had  been 
quiet.  That  was  some  consolation. 

"It's  funny  about  my  friends,"  observed  Johnnie  at  last. 
He  shook  a  discouraged  head.  "Some  way,  I  never  have 
more'n  one  at  a  time." 

The  Father  set  about  cheering  him  up.  "Ah-ha,  now, 
and  let's  not  worry  a  bit  more!"  he  urged.  "Shure,  and 
I've  climbed  up  here  this  day  t'  ask  ye  a  question,  which 
is :  if  Father  Pat  was  t'  say  t'  ye  that  he'd  bring  ye  a  new 
book  the  next  time  he  chanced  by,  why,  then,  little  lover  o* 
readin',  just  what  kind  o'  a  book  would  ye  best  like  t' 
have?" 

Here  was  something  to  coax  the  mind  away  from  con- 
cern! "Oh,  my!"  said  Johnnie.  "Another  book?  A  new 
one?"  Getting  up  to  think  about  his  answer,  he  chanced 
to  glance  out  of  the  window.  And  instantly  he  knew  what 
he  should  like.  "Oh,  Father  Pat !"  he  cried.  "Has— has 
anybody  ever  made  up  a  book  about  the  stars  ?" 

"The  stars !"  the  Father  cried  back.  "Shure,  lad  dear, 
certain  gentlemen  called  astronomers  have  been  writin' 
about  the  stars  for  hundreds  o'  years.  And  they've  named 
the  whole  lot!  And  weighed  and  measured  'em,  Johnnie, 
— think  o'  the  impudence  o'  that!  Yes,  and  they've 
weighed  the  Sun,  and  taken  the  measure  o'  the  Moon! 
Also,  there's  the  comets,  which're  called  after  the  men 
who  first  find  'em.  And,  oh,  think  what  it's  like  t'  have  yer 
name  tied  t'  the  tail  o'  a  comet  for  a  million  years! 
Ho-ho !  ho-ho !  That's  an  honor !  Ye  never  own  the  comet, 
still  'tis  yours!" 

"My !  I'd  like  t'  find  a  Johnnie  Smith  comet !"  declared 
Johnnie.  "And  after  all" — solemnly — "I  think  I  won't 
try  t'  be  President ;  nope,  I'll  be  a  'stronomer." 

"Faith,"  rejoined  the  Father,  the  green  eyes  shining 


260          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

roguishly,  "and  there's  points  o'  resemblance  'twixt  the 
two  callin's.  Both  o'  them,  if  I  ain't  mistaken,  are  cal- 
culated t'  keep  a  conscientious  man  awake  o'  nights !" 

"I'll  be  awful  glad  t'  have  a  star-book,"  decided  Johnnie. 
"Thank  y'  for  it." 

The  priest  smiled  fondly  at  the  ragged  little  figure  sil- 
houetted against  the  window.  "Shure,  and  that's  the  book 
I'll  be  buying  for  ye,"  he  promised.  "And  in  the  crack  o' 
a  hen's  thumb!" 

The  Father  ended  his  visit  to  the  building  by  going 
upstairs,  which  fact  Johnnie  knew  because  of  the  walking 
around  he  could  hear  overhead,  and  the  chair  scrapings. 
But  before  Father  Pat  left  the  Barber  flat  Johnnie  told 
him  about  going  up  on  the  roof  (though  he  did  not  con- 
fess that  Cis  knew  about  it,  or  that  he  had  bought  her 
silence  ^ith  the  toothbrush).  His  new  friend  listened 
without  a  word  of  blame,  only  looking  a  trifle  grave.  "And 
what  do  ye  think  ye  ought  t'  do  for  Madam,  the  jani- 
tress?"  he  asked  when  Johnnie  had  finished  his  admission. 
"For  as  I  see  it,  she's  the.  one  entitled  t'  complain." 

"I'll  tell  y',"  answered  Johnnie,  earnestly;  "I've  swept 
off  the  roof  twice,  good's  I  could,  and  I've  swept  the  stairs 
that  go  up  t'  the  roof.  And  once  I  swept  this  hall." 

"A  true  scout !"  pronounced  the  Father.  "And  I'm  not 
doubtin'  that  if  ye'd  promise  t'  go  on  doin'  the  same, 
Madam'd  be  glad  t'  let  ye  go  up.  Suppose  ye  try  the  sug- 
gestion." 

Johnnie  promised  to  try. 

Late  that  afternoon  the  saddest  thing  happened:  the 
roses  died.  They  had  been  looking  sick,  and  not  at  all 
like  themselves,  since  before  noontime.  As  Johnnie,  pre- 
paring to  set  his  supper  table,  lifted  the  quart  milk  bottle 
which  held  the  bouquet,  intending  again  to  place  it  on 
Cis's  dressing-box,  the  flowers,  with  a  sound  that  was 
almost  like  a  soft  sigh,  showered  their  crumpling  petals 


ANOTHER   GIFT  261 

upon  the  oilcloth.  Shocked,  Johnnie  set  the  bottle  quickly 
down.  But  only  seventeen  bare  stalks  were  left  in  it.  The 
last  sweet  leaf  had  dropped. 

He  stood  for  a  little  looking  down.  The  first  shock 
past,  his  whole  being  became  alive  with  protest.  Oh,  why 
should  beautiful  flowers  ever  have  to  die?  It  was  wrong! 
And  there  swept  over  him  the  hated  realization  that  an 
end  comes  to  things.  He  could  have  wept  then,  but  he 
knew  that  scout  boys  do  not  give  way  to  tears.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  was  understanding  something  of 
life's  prime  tragedy — change.  Girls  grow  up,  dolls  go 
out  of  favor,  roses  fade. 

He  could  not  bear  to  throw  the  petals  away.  Very 
gently  he  gathered  them  up  in  his  two  hands  and  put  them 
into  a  shallow  crockery  dish,  and  sprinkled  them  with  a 
little  cool  water.  "Gee!  What'll  Cis  say  when^she  sees 
them !"  he  faltered.  (How  live  and  sturdy  they  had  seemed 
such  a  little  while  ago !) 

"Cis,"  he  told  her  sadly  when  she  came  in  (just  a 
moment  before  Big  Tom  returned  from  work),  "Blanch- 
fleur,  and  Cora,  and  Elaine,  and  Gertie,  and  all — they  fell 
t»  pieces !" 

She  was  not  cast  down  by  the  news  or  the  sight  of  the 
bowl.  She  had,  she  said,  expected  it,  the  weather  being 
warm  and  the  flat  hot.  After  that,  so  far  as  he  could  see, 
she  did  not  give  the  flowers  another  thought.  When  he 
told  her  that  Father  Pat  had  discovered  the  longshoreman 
waiting  for  Mr.  Perkins  in  the  area,  she  was  not  surprised 
or  concerned.  In  the  usual  evening  manner,  she  brushed 
and  freshened  and  pressed,  smiling  as  she  worked.  She 
seemed  entirely  to  have  forgotten  all  the  unhappy  hours 
of  the  day  before.  True,  she  started  if  Barber  spoke  to 
her,  and  her  quaint  face  flushed.  But  that  was  all. 

"Clear  grown-up !"  Johnnie  told  himself  as  he  put  the 


262         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

petals  out  of  sight  on  a  cupboard  shelf,  laying  the  stems 
beside  them. 

"Everything's  going  to  be  all  right,"  she  assured  him 
when  she  told  him  good  night,  "now  that  we've  got  Father 
Mungovan."  (So  that  was  why  she  was  so  happy!  Or 
was  it  because  she  was  engaged?  Johnnie  wondered.) 

In  the  days  that  followed  Father  Pat  became  a  familiar 
figure  in  and  about  the  area  building.  (And  this  was  for- 
tunate for  Johnnie,  since  Mr.  Perkins's  visits  had  sud- 
denly come  to  an  end.)  Almost  at  any  hour  the  priest 
might  be  seen  slowly  crossing  the  brick  pavement,  or 
more  slowly  climbing  the  stairs  on  his  way  to  the  Barber 
flat.  When  he  was  not  at  Johnnie's,  reading  aloud  out  of 
the  book  on  astronomy  while  Johnnie  threaded  beads,  he 
might  be  found  overhead  in  Mrs.  Kukor's  bright  kitchen, 
resting<n  a  rocker,  a  cup  of  tea  nursed  in  both  hands,  and 
holding  long,  confidential  and  (to  Johnnie)  mysterious 
conversations,  which  the  latter  wished  so  much  he  might 
share,  though  he  always  discouraged  the  wish,  understand- 
ing that  it  was  not  at  all  polite  to  want  to  be  where  he 
was  not  invited. 

He  and  the  priest,  of  course,  had  their  own  lengthy  and 
delightful  talks.  Sometimes  it  would  be  Johnnie  who 
would  have  the  most  to  say.  Perhaps  he  would  tell  Father 
Pat  about  one  of  his  thinks:  a  vision,  say,  of  high  roof- 
bridges,  built  far  above  the  crowded,  noisy  streets — arched, 
steel  bridges,  swung  from  the  summit  of  one  tall  building 
to  another  like  the  threads  of  a  spider's  web.  Each  bridge 
was  to  be  lighted  by  electricity,  and  "I'll  push  Grandpa's 
wheel  chair  all  across  the  top  o'  N'York !"  he  declared. 

Father  Pat  did  not  laugh  at  this  think.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  thought  it  both  practical  and  grand.  Indeed, 
he  laughed  at  none  of  Johnnie's  ideas,  and  would  listen 
in  the  gravest  fashion  as  the  boy  described  a  new  think- 
bicycle  which  had  arrived  from  Wanamaker's  just  that 


ANOTHER   GIFT  263 

minute — accompanied  by  a  knife  with  three  blades  and 
a  can  opener.  The  Father  agreed  that  there  were  points 
in  favor  of  a  bicycle  which  took  up  no  room  in  so  small 
a  flat,  and  required  no  oiling.  And  if  Johnnie  went  so 
far  as  to  mount  the  shining  leather  seat  of  his  latest  pur- 
chase and  circle  the  kitchen  table  (Boof  scampering  along- 
side), the  priest  would  look  on  with  genuine  interest, 
though  the  pretend-bicycle  was  the  same  broomstick  which, 
on  other  occasions,  galloped  the  floor  as  a  dappled  steed 
of  Aladdin's. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Father  Pat  entered  into  Johnnie's 
games  like  any  boy.  Unblushing,  he  telephoned  over  the 
Barber  clothesline.  More  than  once,  with  whistles  and 
coaxings  and  pats,  he  fed  the  dog!  He  even  thought  up 
games  of  his  own.  "Now  ye  think  I'm  comin'  in  alone," 
he  said  one  morning.  "That's  because  ye  see  notydy  else. 
But,  ho-ho!  What  deceivin'!  For,  shure,  right  here  in 
me  pocket  I've  got  a  friend — Mr.  Charles  Dickens!" 

On  almost  every  visit  he  would  have  some  such  surprise. 
Or  perhaps  he  would  fetch  in  just  a  bit  of  news.  "I  hear 
they're  thinkin'  o'  raisin'  a  statoo  o'  Colonel  Roosevelt  at 
the  Sixth  Avenoo  entrance  to  Central  Park,"  he  told 
Johnnie  one  day.  "And  I'm  informed  it's  t'  be  Roosevelt 
the  Rough  Rider.  Now  at  present  the  statoo's  but  a 
thought — a  thought  in  the  minds  o'  men  and  women,  but 
in  the  brain  o'  a  sculptor  in  particular.  However,  there'll 
come  a  day  when  the  thought'll  freeze  into  bronze.  Dear 
me,  think  o'  that !" 

At  all  times  how  read}'  and  willing  he  was  to  answer 
questions !  "Ask  me  annything,"  he  would  challenge  smil- 
ingly. He  was  a  mine,  a  storehouse,  yes,  a  very  fountain 
of  knowledge,  satisfying  every  inquiry,  settling  every  ar- 
gument— even  to  that  one  regarding  the  turning  of  the 
earth.  And  so  Johnnie  would  constantly  propound :  How 
far  does  the  snow  fall?  Why  doesn't  the  rain  hurt  when 


264          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

it  hits?     Do  flies  talk?     What  made  Grandpa  grow  old? 

Ah,  those  were  the  days  which  were  never  to  be  for- 
gotten ! 

There  came  a  day  which  brought  with  it  an  added  joy. 
So  often  Johnnie  had  mourned  the  fact  that  he  did  not 
have  more  than  one  friend  at  a  time.  But  late  on  a 
blazing  August  afternoon,  just  as  the  Falher  was  getting 
up  to  take  his  leave,  the  hall  door  squeaked  open  slowly, 
and  there  on  the  threshold,  with  his  wide  hat,  his  open  vest, 
watchchain,  furred  breeches  and  all,  was  One-Eye!  ("Oh, 
two  at  a  time,  now!"  Johnnie  boasted  to  Cis  that  night. 
"Two  at  a  time!") 

Yet  at  first  he  was  not  able  to  believe  his  own  eyes. 
Neither  was  Father  Pat.  The  priest  stared  at  the  cowboy 
like  a  man  in  a  daze.  Then  he  looked  away,  winking  and 
pursing  his  lips.  Once  more  he  stared.  At  last,  one  hand 
outstret&hed  uncertainly,  he  crossed  to  One-Eye  and  cau- 
tiously touched  him. 

Not  understanding,  One-Eye  very  respectfully  took  the 
Hand,  and  shook  it.  "How  are  y'?"  he  said. 

"Ah!  So  ye  do  exist!"  breathed  the  Father,  huskily. 
Then  shaking  hands  again,  "Shure,  I've  heard  about  ye 
for  this  long  time,  but  was  under  the  impression  that  ye 
was  only  a  spook!" 

Warm  were  the  greetings  exchanged  now  by  the  cowboy 
and  Johnnie.  One-Eye  was  powerfully  struck  by  the 
improvement  in  the  latter's  physical  appearance.  "Gee- 
whillikens,  sonny!"  he  cried.  "Wy,  y're  not  half  as 
peeked  as  y*  used  t'  be !  Y're  fuller  in  the  face !  And  a 
lot  taller!  Sat/!"  And  when  Johnnie  explained  that  it 
was  mostly  due  to  a  quart  of  milk  which  a  certain  Mr. 
Perkins  had  been  bringing  to  him  six  days  out  of  seven 
(until  the  supply  had  been  cut  off  along  with  the  visits 
of  the  donor),  without  another  syllable,  up  got  One-Eye 
and  tore  out,  leaving  the  door  open,  and  raising  a  pillar 


ANOTHER   GIFT  265 

of  dust  on  the  stairs  in  the  wake  of  his  spurs.  He  was 
back  in  no  time,  a  quart  of  ice-cold  milk  in  either  hand. 
"If  he  likes  it,"  he  explained  to  Father  Pat,  "and  if  it's 
good  for  him,  w'y,  they  ain't  no  reason  under  the  shinin' 
sun  w'y  he  can't  have  it. — Sonny,  I  put  in  a'  order  for  a 
quart  ev'ry  mornin'.  And  I  paid  for  six  months  in  ad- 
vance." 

His  own  appearance  was  not  what  it  had  been  formerly. 
He  looked  less  leathery,  and  lanker.  In  answer  to  John- 
nie's anxious  inquiry,  he  admitted  that  he  had  been  sick, 
"Havin'  et  off,  accidental,  'bout  half  a'  inch  o'  mustache ;" 
though,  so  far  as  Johnnie  could  see,  none  of  the  sandy 
ornament  appeared  to  be  missing.  And  where  had  he  been 
all  this  long  time?  Oh,  jes'  shuttlin'  'twixt  Cheyenne  and 
the  ranch. 

His  sickness  had  changed  him  in  certain  subtle  ways. 
He  had  less  to  say  than  formerly,  did  not  mention  Barber, 
did  not  ask  after  Cis,  and  jiggled  one  foot  constantly,  as 
if  he  were  on  the  point  of  again  jumping  up  and  tak- 
ing flight.  Father  Pat  gone,  he  brightened  considerably 
as  he  discussed  the  departed  guest.  "Soldier,  eh!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "Wai,  young  feller,  I'll  say  this  preachin'  gent 
ain't  no  ev'ryday,  tenderfoot  parson !  No,  ma'am !  He's 
got  savvy !" 

He  was  politely  attentive,  if  not  enthusiastic,  when 
Johnnie  told  him  more  about  Mr.  Perkins,  the  future  scout 
dwelling  especially  upon  that  rosy  time  which  would  see 
him  in  uniform  ("but  how  I'm  goin'  t'  get  that,  I  don't 
know").  Johnnie  did  all  the  setting-up  exercises  for  the 
Westerner,  too;  and,  as  a  final  touch,  displayed  for  his 
inspection  an  indisputably  clean  neck! 

But  Johnnie  had  saved  till  the  last  the  crowning  news 
of  all.  And  he  felt  certain  that  if  the  cowboy  had  shown 
not  more  than  a  lively  interest  in  Father  Pat,  and  had 
been  only  politely  heedful  regarding  boy  scouts,  things 


266          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

would  be  altogether  different  when  he  heard  about  the 
engagement. 

"One-Eye,"  began  Johnnie,  impressively,  "I  got  some- 
thin'  else  t'  tell  y'.  Oh,  it's  somethin'  that'll  su'prise  y' 
awful!  What  d'  y'  think  it  is?" 

One-Eye  was  in  the  morris  chair  at  the  time,  his  hat  on, 
his  single  organ  of  vision  roving  the  kitchen.  In  partic- 
ular, it  roved  in  the  direction  of  the  tiny  room,  where, 
through  the  open  door,  could  be  seen  dimly  the  gay  paper 
flounces  bedecking  Cis's  dressing-table.  "Aw,  I  dunno," 
he  answered  dully. 

"But,  guess,  One-Eye!"  persisted  Johnnie,  eager  to  fire 
the  cowboy's  curiosity.  "Guess !  And  I'll  help  y'  out  by 
tellin'  y'  this  much:  it's  'bout  Cis." 

Ah!  That  caught  the  interest!  Johnnie  could  tell  by 
the  way  that  single  eye  came  shooting  round  to  hold  his 
own.  *":Yeh?"  exclaimed  the  Westerner.  "Wai — ? 
Wai — ?"  He  leaned  forward  almost  impatiently. 

"Cis  and  Mister  Perkins  're  goin'  t'  be  married." 

One-Eye  continued  to  stare;  and  Johnnie  saw  the 
strangest  expression  come  into  the  green  eye.  Anger 
seemed  a  part  of  that  expression,  and  instantly  Johnnie 
regretted  having  shared  the  news  (but  why  should  the 
cowboy  be  angry  ?)  Also  there  was  pain  in  the  look.  Then 
did  One-Eye  disapprove? 

At  this  last  thought,  Johnnie  hastened  to  explain  how 
things  stood  in  the  flat.  "Big  Tom,  he  don't  know  they're 
goin'  t'  be  married,"  he  said,  "and  we'd  be  'fraid  t'  tell 
him." 

"I — I  savvy."  Now  One-Eye  studied  the  floor.  Pres- 
ently, as  if  he  were  busy  with  his  thoughts,  he  reached  up 
and  dragged  his  hat  far  down  over  his  blind  eye.  The 
hat  settled,  he  settled  himself — lower  and  lower  in  the 
big  chair,  his  shoulders  doubling,  his  knees  falling  apart, 


ANOTHER   GIFT  267 

his  clasped  hands  hanging  between  his  knees  and  all  but 
touching  his  boots.  Thus  he  stayed  for  a  little,  bowed. 

All  this  was  so  different  from  what  Johnnie  had  expected 
that  again  he  suspected  displeasure — toward  Cis,  toward 
himself ;  and  as  with  a  sinking,  miserable  heart  he  watched 
his  visitor,  he  wished  from  his  soul  that  he  had  kept  the 
engagement  to  himself.  "Y*  ain't  g-g-glad,"  he  stammered 
finally. 

However,  as  Johnnie  afterward  remarked  to  Cis,  when 
it  came  to  judging  what  the  cowboy  felt  about  this  or  that, 
a  person  never  could  tell.  For,  "Glad?"  repeated  One- 
Eye,  raising  the  bent  head;  "w'y,  sonny,  I'm  tickled  t' 
death  t'  hear  it ! — jes'  plumb  tickled  t'  death !"  (And  how 
was  Johnnie  to  know  that  this  was  not  strictly  the  truth?) 

The  next  afternoon,  while  Father  Pat  was  reading 
aloud  the  story  of  the  Sangreal,  here  entered  One-Eye 
again,  stern  purpose  in  the  very  upturning  of  that  de- 
pleted mustache.  "Figgered  mebbe  I  could  ask  y'  t'  do 
somethin'  fer  me,"  he  told  the  priest.  "It's  concernin' 
that  scout  proposition  o'  Johnnie's.  Seems  like  he'll  be 
needin'  a  uniform  pretty  soon,  won't  he?  Wondered  if 
y'd  mind  pur-cJiasiri1  it."  Then  down  upon  the  kitchen 
table  he  tossed  a  number  of  crisp,  green  bills. 

Stunned  at  sight  of  so  much  money,  paralyzed  with 
emotion,  and  tongue-tied,  Johnnie  could  only  stare.  Af- 
terward he  remembered,  with  a  bothersome,  worried  feeling, 
that  he  had  not  thanked  One-Eye  before  the  latter  took 
his  leave  along  with  Father  Pat.  That  night  on  the  roof 
he  walked  up  and  down  while  he  whispered  his  gratitude  to 
a  One-Eye  who  was  a  think.  "Oh,  it  just  stuck  in  my 
throat,  kind  of,"  he  explained.  "Oh,  I'm  sorry  I  acted 
so  funny!"  (Why  did  the  words  of  appreciation  simply 
flow  from  between  his  lips  now?  though  he  had  not  been 
able  to  whisper  one  at  the  proper  time !) 

That  night,  wearing  the  uniform  he  had  not  yet  seen, 


268         THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

he  took  a  long  pretend-walk;  but  not  along  any  street  of 
the  East  Side;  not  even  up  Fifth  Avenue.  He  chose  a 
garden  set  thick  with  trees.  There  was  a  lake  in  the  gar- 
den; and  wonderful  birds  flew  about — parrots,  they  were, 
like  the  ones  owned  by  Crusoe.  For  a  new  suit  of  an 
ordinary  kind,  any  thoroughfare  of  the  city  might  have 
done  well  enough.  But  the  new  uniform  demanded  a  spe- 
cial setting.  And  this  place  of  enchantment  was  Mr.  Rock- 
efeller's private  park ! 

It  seemed  as  if  the  night  would  never  go !  Next  morn- 
ing, it  seemed  as  if  Big  Tom  would  never  go,  nor  the  Father 
come.  But  at  an  early  hour  the  latter  did  appear,  panting, 
in  his  arms  a  large  pasteboard  box.  At  sight  of  that  box, 
Johnnie  felt  almost  faint.  But  when  the  string  was  cut, 
and  the  cover  taken  off,  disclosing  a  crisp,  clean,  khaki 
unifornj,  with  little,  breathless  cries,  and  excited  exclama- 
tions, yes,  and  with  wet  lashes,  he  caught  the  gift  up  in 
his  arms  and  held  it  against  him,  embracing  it.  It  was 
his!  His!  Oh,  the  overwhelming  joy  of  knowing  it  was 
his! 

Though  there  was,  of  course,  a  chance  that  another 
strike  might  happen,  and  Big  Tom  come  trudging  home, 
nevertheless  Johnnie  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of 
donning  the  precious  outfit,  seeing  himself  in  it,  and  show- 
ing himself  to  the  Father.  But  first  he  took  a  thorough 
hand-wash,  this  to  guard  against  soiling  a  new  garment ; 
to  insure  against  surprise  while  he  was  putting  the  clothes 
on,  he  scurried  into  Cis's  room  with  the  armful,  leaving 
Father  Pat  in  the  morris  chair,  from  where  the  latter 
called  out  advice  now  and  again. 

On  went  everything.  Not  without  mistakes,  however, 
and  some  fumbling,  in  the  poor  light,  over  strange  fasten- 
ings (all  of  Johnnie's  fingers  had  turned  into  thumbs). 
The  Father  had  done  his  part  particularly  well,  and  the 
suit  fitted  nicely.  So  did  the  leggings,  so  soon  as  Johnnie, 


ANOTHER   GIFT  269 

discovering  that  he  had  them  on  upside  down,  inverted 
them.  The  buttoning  and  the  belting,  the  lacing  and  the 
knotting,  at  an  end,  he  put  on  the  hat.  But  was  undecided 
as  to  whether  or  not  he  should  wear  it  at  a  slant  of  forty- 
five  degrees,  as  One-Eye  wore  his,  or  straight,  as  was  Mr. 
Perkins's  custom.  Finally  he  chose  the  latter  fashion,  took 
a  long  breath,  like  a  swimmer  coming  up  out  of  the  depths, 
and — walked  forth  in  a  pair  of  squeaking  brown  shoes. 

How  different  from  the  usual  Johnnie  Smith  he  looked ! 
He  had  lost  that  curious  chunky  appearance  which  Bar- 
ber's old  clothes  gave  him,  and  which  was  so  misleading. 
On  the  other  hand,  his  thin  arms  and  pipelike  legs  were 
concealed,  respectively,  by  becoming  cloth  and  canvas. 
As  for  his  body,  it  was  slender,  and  lithe.  And  how 
straight  he  stood!  And  how  smart  was  his  appearance! 
And  how  tall  he  seemed!  » 

The  priest  threw  up  astonished  hands.  "Shure,"  he 
cried,  "and  is  this  annybody  I  know?" 

"Oh,  it  is!  I  am!"  declared  Johnnie,  flushing  under 
the  brim  of  the  olive-drab  hat.  "It's  me,  Father  Pat! 
Oh,  my!  Do  I  look  fine?  D'y'likeit?" 

Grandpa  did,  for  he  was  circling  Johnnie,  cackling  with 
excitement.  "Oh,  go  fetch  Mother!"  he  pleaded.  "Go 
fetch  Mother! — Oh,  Mother,  hurry  up!  Come  and  see 
Johnnie !" 

The  Father  walked  in  circles  too,  exclaiming  and  ad- 
miring. "It  can't  be  a  certain  little  lad  who  lives  in  the 
Barber  flat,"  he  puzzled.  "So  who  can  it  be?  No,  I  don't 
know  this  small  soldier,  and  I'll  thank  ye  if  ye'll  introduce 

me!" 

"Oh,"  answered  Johnnie,  "I  ain't  'zac'ly  sure  I'm  my- 
self!    Oh,  Father  Pat,  isn't  it  wonderful  ?— and  I  know 
I've  got  it  'cause  I  can  take  hold  of  it,  and  smell  it ! 
my  goodness!"     A  feeling  possessed  him  which  he  had 
never  had  before — a  feeling  of  pride  in  his  personal  ap- 


270          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

pearance.  With  it  came  a  sense  of  self-respect.  "And  7 
seem  t'  be  new,  and  clean,  and  fine,"  he  added,  "jus'  like 
the  clothes !" 

"Ye're  a  wee  gentleman!"  asserted  the  Father;  " — a 
soldier  and  a  gentleman !"  And  he  saluted  Johnnie. 

Johnnie  returned  the  salute — twice!  Whereupon 
Grandpa  fell  to  saluting,  and  calling  out  commands  in 
his  quavering  old  voice,  and  trying  to  stand  upon  his 
slippered  feet. 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  uproar,  "Oh,  One-Eye !  One-Eye ! 
One-Eye !"  For  here,  piling  one  happiness  upon  another, 
here  was  the  cowboy,  staggering  in  under  the  weight  of 
a  huge,  ice-cold  watermelon. 

"That's  my  name!"  returned  the  Westerner,  grinning. 
"But  y*  better  take  the  eggs  outen  my  pockets  'fore  ye 
grab  me  like  that.  Y'  know  eggs  can  bust." 

When  the  eggs  were  rescued,  along  with  a  whole  pound 
of  butter,  Johnnie  saluted  One-Eye.  Next,  he  held  out 
his  hand.  "Oh,  I — I  think  you're  awful  good,"  he  de- 
clared (he  had  thought  up  this  much  of  his  speech  the 
night  before  on  the  roof). 

One-Eye  waved  him  away  as  if  he  were  a  fly,  and  said 
"Bosh !"  a  great  many  times  as  Johnnie  tried  to  continue. 
Finally,  to  change  the  subject,  the  cowboy  broke  into 
that  sad  song  about  his  mother,  which  stopped  any  further 
attempt  to  thank  him. 

"I'll  tell  y'  what,"  he  declared  when  Johnnie's  mind 
was  at  last  completely  diverted  from  his  polite  intention ; 
"they's  jes'  one  thing  shy.  Yeppie,  one.  What  y'  need 
now  is  a  nice,  fine,  close  hair  cut." 

"At  a — at  a  barber's?"  Johnnie  asked,  already  guess- 
ing the  answer. 

"Come  along!" 

"Oh,  One-Eye !"  gasped  Johnnie.  (Oh,  the  glory  of 
going  out  in  the  uniform !  and  with  the  cowboy !  And  how 


ANOTHER   GIFT  271 

would  he  ever  be  able  to  take  the  new  suit  off !)  "But  if  I 
wear  it  out,  and  Tie  sees  me,  and " 

One-Eye  was  at  the  door,  ready  to  lead  the  way. 
(Father  Pat  would  stay  behind  with  Grandpa.)  The 
cowboy  turned  half  about.  "If  Barber  was  t'  find  out," 
he  answered,  "and  so  much  as  laid  a  little  finger  on  that 
suit,  he'd  have  t'  settle  matters  with  me.  Come !" 

Like  one  in  an  enchanted  dream,  Johnnie  followed  on  in 
his  stiff,  new  shoes.  It  was  noon,  and  as  they  emerged  from 
the  dark  hallway  which  led  into  the  main  street  to  the 
north,  the  sidewalks  were  aswarm.  Indeed,  the  doorstep 
which  gave  from  the  hall  to  the  pave  was  itself  planted 
thick  with  citizens  of  assorted  sizes.  To  get  out,  One-Eye 
lifted  his  spurred  boots  high  over  the  heads  of  two  small 
people.  But  Johnnie,  doffing  the  scout  hat  with  practiced 
art,  "  'Scuse  me,  please,"  he  begged,  in  perfect  imitation 
of  Mr.  Perkins ;  and  in  very  awe  fully  six  of  the  seated, 
having  given  a  backward  glance,  and  spied  that  uniform, 
rose  precipitately  to  let  him  by. 

"Johnnie  Barber!"  gasped  some  one.  "What  d'  y* 
know!"  demanded  another.  From  a  third  came  a  long, 
low  whistle  of  amazement. 

Johnnie's  ears  stung  pleasantly.  "Hear  'em  ?"  he  asked 
One-Eye.  "Course  they  mean  me!" 

"Ad-mi-ra-tion,"  pronounced  the  cowboy,  who  always 
took  his  big  words  thus,  a  syllable  at  a  time.  "Sonny, 
y've  knocked  'em  all  pie-eyed !" 

The  barber  shop  was  not  nearly  so  regal  as  that  res- 
taurant of  fond  and  glorious  memory.  Yet  in  its  way  it 
was  splendid ;  and  it  was  most  interesting,  what  with  its 
lean-back  chairs,  man-high  mirrors,  huge  stacks  of  towels, 
lines  of  glittering  bottles,  and  rows  of  shaving  mugs  (this 
being  a  neighborhood  shop).  And  how  deliciously  it 
smelled ! 

It  was  a  little,  dark  gentleman  in  a  gleaming  white  coat 


272          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

who  waved  Johnnie  into  one  of  the  chairs — from  which, 
his  eyes  wide  and  eager,  the  latter  viewed  himself  as  never 
before,  from  his  bare  head  to  his  knees,  and  scarcely  knew 
himself ! 

One-Eye  came  to  stand  over  the  chair.  "Now,  don't  y' 
give  the  boy  one  of  them  dis-gustin',  round,  mush-bowl 
hair  cuts!"  he  warned,  addressing  the  small,  dark  man. 
"Nope.  He  wants  the  reg'lar  old-fashioned  kind,  with  a 
feather  edge  right  down  t'  the  neck." 

When  one  travels  about  under  the  wing  of  a  millionaire, 
all  things  happen  right.  This  was  Johnnie's  pleased  con- 
clusion as,  with  a  snip,  snip,  snip,  the  bright  scissors  did 
their  quick  work  over  his  yellow  head.  He  had  a  large 
white  cloth  pinned  about  his  shoulders  (no  doubt  the 
barber  had  noted  the  uniform,  and  was  giving  it  fitting  pro- 
tection^, and  upon  that  cloth  fell  the  severed  bits  of  hair, 
flecking  it  with  gold.  In  what  One-Eye  described  after- 
ward as  "jig-time,"  the  last  snip  was  made.  Then  John- 
nie had  his  neck  dusted  with  a  soft  brush,  the  white  cloth 
was  removed,  and  he  stood  up,  shorn  and  proud. 

Outside,  several  boys  were  hanging  against  the  window, 
peering  in.  As  Johnnie  settled  his  hat  he  recalled  some- 
thing Father  Pat  had  once  said  about  the  desirability  of 
putting  one's  self  in  another  person's  place.  Johnnie  did 
that,  and  realized  what  a  fortunate  boy  he  was — with  his 
wonderful  friend  at  his  side,  his  uniform  on  his  back,  and 
"a  dandy  hair  cut."  So  as  he  went  out  in  One-Eye's 
wake,  "Hullo !"  he  called  to  the  boys  in  the  most  cordial 
way. 

"And  I  reckon  we  look  some  punkins?"  the  cowboy  ob- 
served when  they  were  back  in  the  flat  once  more. 

"Share,"  replied  Father  Pat,  "and  what's  more  civiliz- 
in'  than  a  barber  shop !" 

And  now  the  question  was,  how  could  Cis  view  Johnnie 
in  all  his  military  magnificence  without  putting  that  new 


ANOTHER   GIFT  273 

uniform  in  danger?  One-Eye  had  the  answer:  he  would 
be  down  in  the  area  when  Big  Tom  arrived  from  work, 
"And  off  we'll  go  for  see-gars,"  he  plotted,  "so  the  field'll 
be  clear." 

However,  as  he  waited  for  Cis,  Johnnie  could  not  bring 
himself  to  take  too  many  chances  with  One-Eye's  superb 
gift,  and  hid  it,  though  he  felt  hot  enough,  beneath  Bar- 
ber's big  clothes  (and  how  fortunate  it  was  that  the  long- 
shoreman's cast-offs  were  voluminous  enough  to  go  over 
everything).  Thus  doubly  clad,  he  looked  exceedingly 
plump  and  padded.  That  was  not  the  worst  of  it.  The 
sleeves  of  the  new  coat  showed.  But  all  he  had  to  do  was 
draw  up  over  them  that  pair  of  Cis's  stockings  which  had 
kept  his  thin  arms  warm  during  the  past  winter.  Of  course 
his  leggings  and  the  shoes  also  showed,  so  he  took  these 
off.  Then  perspiring,  but  happy,  he  watched  fris  two 
friends  go,  giving  them  a  farewell  salute. 

Cis  came  in  promptly.  "Oh,  all  day  I've  hardly  been 
able  to  wait!"  she  declared.  Then  with  upraised  hands, 
"Oh,  Johnnie,  how  beautiful  you  are !  Oh,  you're  like  a 
picture !  Like  a  picture  I  once  saw  of  a  boy  who  sang  in 
a  church!  Oh,  Johnnie,  you're  the  best-looking  scout  in 
all  New  York !  Yes,  you  are !  And  I'm  going  to  kiss  you !" 

He  let  her,  salving  his  slight  annoyance  thereat  with  the 
thought  that  no  one  could  see.  "But  don't  say  any  thin' 
t'  the  Father  'r  One-Eye  about  me  bein'  beautiful,"  he 
pleaded.  "Willy'?  Huh?" 

She  promised  she  would  not.  "Oh,  Johnnie,"  she  cried 
again,  having  taken  a  second  view  of  him  from  still  an- 
other angle,  and  in  another  light,  "that  khaki's  almost  the 
color  of  your  hair!" — which  partly  took  the  joy  out  of 
things ! 

Yet,  under  the  circumstances,  no  pang  of  any  sort 
could  endure  very  long.  Particularly  as — following  the 
proper  signal — Johnnie  went  to  Mrs.  Kukor's,  Cis  at  his 


274          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

brown  heels.  Arrived,  he  saluted  an  astonished  lady  who 
did  not  at  first  recognize  him;  then  he  took  off  the  new 
hat  to  her.  She  was  quite  stunned  (naturally),  and  could 
only  sink  into  a  rocker,  hands  waving,  round  head  wagging. 
But  next,  a  very  torrent  of  exclamations,  all  in  Yiddish. 
After  that,  "Soch  stylish !"  she  gasped  rapturously.  "Pos- 
i-tiwle!" 

Back  in  the  flat  again,  Johnnie  took  off  the  uniform. 
That  called  for  will  power;  but  he  dared  not  longer  risk 
his  prized  possession.  Late  that  night,  when  Big  Tom 
had  eaten  to  repletion  of  the  watermelon,  and  smoked  him- 
self to  sleep  on  one  of  One-Eye's  cigars,  Johnnie  reached 
in  around  the  jamb  of  Cis's  door  and  cautiously  drew  that 
big  suit  box  to  him.  In  the  morning  it  would  have  to  join 
the  books  upstairs.  However,  for  a  happy,  dark  hour  or 
two  he  could  enjoy  the  outfit.  How  crisp  and  clean  and 
strong  it  felt !  Blushing  at  his  own  foolishness,  he  lifted 
the  cowboy's  gift  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

ANOTHER  STORY 

THE  first  Sunday  in  September  was  a  day  that 
Johnnie  was  never  to  forget.  Big  Tom,  Grandpa, 
Cis,  and  he — all  were  gathered  about  the  kitchen 
table  for  the  noon  meal  when  Father  Pat  and  One-Eye 
came  in,  the  Father  without  his  usual  cheery  greeting, 
though  there  was  nothing  downcast  in  his  look  or  manner. 
On  the  contrary,  something  of  pride  was  in  his  step,  slow 
as  that  step  was,  and  also  in  his  glance,  which  instantly 
sought  out  Johnnie.  The  face  of  the  cowboy,  however, 
was  stern,  and  that  single  eye,  greener  than  either — or 
both — of  the  Father's,  was  iron-hard  and  coldly  averted. 

As  the  hall  door  shut  at  their  backs,  the  priest  raised 
his  right  hand  in  a  gesture  which  was  partly  a  salutation, 
partly  a  blessing.  "Barber,"  he  began  solemnly  (the 
longshoreman,  having  given  the  visitors  a  swift  and  surly 
look,  had  gone  on  busily  with  his  eating),  "we've  come 
this  mornin'  about  the  Blake  matter." 

Startled,  Big  Tom  threw  down  his  knife  and  rose,  in- 
stantly on  the  defensive;  and  Johnnie  and  Cis,  watching, 
understood  at  once  that  "the  Blake  matter"  was  one  known 
to  the  longshoreman,  not  welcomed  by  him,  though  most 
important.  "Oh,  y'  seen  that  guy,  Davis,  eh?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"Not  one  hour  ago,"  answered  the  priest,  quietly. 

"Tuh!" — it  was  an  angry  sneer.  "And  I  s'pose  he 
whined  'bout  me  takin'  the  kid? — though  he  could  do 

275 


276          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

nothin'  for  Johnnie.  Sophie  was  dead,  and  the  kid  was 
too  little  t'  be  left  alone." 

"Ye  took  the  lad  the  day  Albert  Davis  was  half  crazed 
over  his  wife,"  charged  the  Father;  " — hurried  him  off 
without  a  word  or  a  line!  A  bad  trick  altogether!  Oh, 
Davis  guessed  ye  had  the  boy — the  wee  Johnnie  he  loved 
like  a  father.  But  he  had  small  time  t'  hunt,  what  with 
his  work.  And  at  last  he  had  t'  give  up." 

All  that  told  Johnnie  a  great  deal.  He  shot  a  look  at 
Cis.  Barber  had  taunted  him  often  with  his  Uncle  Al- 
bert's indifference — with  the  fact  that  not  even  a  post 
card  had  ever  come  from  the  rich  man's  garage  to  the 
lonely  little  boy  in  the  area  building.  But  how  could 
Uncle  Albert  send  a  post  card  to  some  one  if  he  did  not 
know  that  some  one's  address? 

BarBer  kicked  the  morris  chair  out  of  his  way.  "That's 
the  thanks  I  git  for  supportin*  a  youngster  who  ain't  no 
kin  t'  me !"  he  stormed. 

Father  Pat  drew  himself  up.  The  red  stubble  on  his 
bare  head  seemed  stiff  with  righteous  wrath.  "Then  I'll 
ask  ye  why  ye  kidnapped  the  lad?"  he  cried.  "No  kin  t' 
ye,  eh  ?  And  ye  knew  it,  didn't  ye  ?  Then !  So  why  didn't 
ye  leave  the  boy  with  Davis? — Because  ye  wanted  his 
work !" 

"Work !"  repeated  Barber,  and  broke  into  a  shrill  laugh. 
"Why,  he  wasn't  worth  his  feed!  I  took  him  jus'  t'  be 
decent !" 

"Barber,"  returned  the  Father,  firmly,  "the  tellin'  o' 
a  lie  against  annybody  is  always  a  bad  thing.  But  there's 
another  kind  o'  lie  that's  even  worse,  and  that's  lying  t' 
yersetf — that  ye  was  thinkin'  o'  his  good  when  ye  rushed 
him  awa}r,  and  not  o'  yer  own  pocket !"  Then,  nodding 
wisely  as  he  took  the  chair  Big  Tom  booted  aside,  "//  ye 
wanted  t'  be  so  decent,  why  didn't  ye  take  the  lad  when 
his  father  and  mother  died  ?  Ha-a-a !  He  was  too  tiny  t' 


ANOTHER  STORY  277 

be  useful  then,  wasn't  he?     So  ye  let  Sophie  Davis  bring 
him  up ;  ye  let  his  uncle  support  him." 

"Oh,  all  right,"  rejoined  the  longshoreman,  resentfully. 
I  guess  when  y've  made  up  your  mind  about  a  man,  there 
ain't  no  use  talkin'  t'  y',  is  there?" 

"No  use,  Mr.  Barber,"  answered  the  other.  "And  this 
very  mornin',  while  I've  still  got  the  breath  and  the 
strength  t'  do  it,  I  mean  t'  tell  the  lad  the  truth !" 

"I  been  intendin'  t'  tell  him  myself,"  asserted  Barber. 
"But  up  t'  now,  it  wasn't  no  story  t'  be  tellin'  a  little  kid 
— leastways,  not  a  kid  that's  got  a  loony  way  o'  seein* 
things,  and  worryin'  over  'em.  And  I  warn  y'!  Y're 
likely  as  not  t'  make  him  sick!" 

The  priest  chuckled.  "Y'  ought  t'  know  about  that," 
he  agreed.  "Seein'  that  ye've  made  him  sick  yerself,  often 
enough."  • 

At  that,  with  a  backward  tip  of  his  head,  so  that  the 
wide  hat  fell  off,  and  with  the  strangest,  rasping,  strang- 
ling sound  in  his  skinny  throat  (his  great,  hairy  Adam's- 
apple  leaping,  now  high,  now  low),  One-Eye  began  to 
laugh,  at  the  same  time  beginning  a  series  of  arm-wavings, 
slapping  first  one  thigh  and  then  the  other.  "Har!  har! 
har!"  he  ejaculated  hoarsely. 

With  a  muttered  curse,  Big  Tom  walked  to  the  door. 
"Go  ahead !"  he  cried.  "But  7  don't  set  'round  and  listen 
t'  the  stuff!"  Black,  fuming,  he  slammed  his  way  out. 

One-Eye  pointed  out  the  kitchen  chair  to  Cis ;  and  when 
she  was  seated,  got  the  wood  box  and  set  it  on  its  side. 
"Come  and  roost  along  with  me,"  he  bade  Johnnie,  the 
single  eye  under  the  wet-combed,  tawny  bang  smiling  al- 
most tenderly  at  the  boy. 

When  they  were  all  comfortably  settled,  "Our  good 
friend  here  got  most  o'  the  information,"  informed 
Father  Pat.  "So,  One-Eye,  wouldn't  ye  like  t'— 

"Oh,  not  me !    Not  me !"  the  Westerner  answered  quick- 


278          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ly.  "I  ain't  no  hand  for  tellin'  nothin'!  No,  Father! 
Please !  I  pass !" 

"Johnnie,"  began  the  priest,  "it's  likely  ye've  guessed, 
after  hearin'  all  I  said  t'  Mr.  Barber,  that  ye  was  (what 
I'll  be  bold  enough  t'  call)  stolen  from  yer  Uncle,  who 
wasn't  ever  able  t'  locate  ye  again." 

"Yes,  sir," — with  a  pleased  smile.  His  Uncle  Albert  was 
not  more  than  an  hour  away.  That  was  the  best  of  news  ! 

"And  ye  noted  me  use  the  name  o'  Blake,"  continued 
the  other.  "Well,  it  happens  t'  be  yer  own  name." 

"Blake !"    Cis  was  amazed. 

"Y*  mean — y*  mean  my  name  ain't  Smith,"  faltered 
Johnnie,  who  had,  for  a  moment,  been  too  stunned  by  the 
news  to  speak. 

"Smith  was  the  first  name  Mr.  Barber  could  think  up," 
explained  Father  Pat,  "when  he  made  up  his  mind  t'  take 
ye,  Mr.  Davis  bein'  gone  t'  the  hospital." 

One-Eye  burst  out.  "Never  liked  the  name !"  he  de- 
clared. "Knowed  a  feller  oncet — Jim  Smith — a  snake ! 
a  bald-haided  buzzard !  a  pole-cat !" 

Johnnie  was  staring  at  the  floor.  "John  Blake!"  he 
said  under  his  breath.  "O'  course !  Me !  'Cause  it  sounds 
all  right,  some  way,  and  Smith  never  did! — Not  John 
Smith,  but  John  Blake !" 

"Johnnie,"  went  on  the  Father,  "I  told  the  dear  two  o' 
ye  the  story  o'  Edith  Cavell.  And  ye  thought  that  story 
grand,  which  it  is.  But  t'day  I'm  tellin'  ye  another — one 
which,  in  its  way,  is  equally  grand.  But  this  time  the 
story's  about  a  man — a  wonderful  man,  gallant  and  brave, 
that  ye'll  love  from  this  hour  on." 

"Please,  what  does  he  look  like  ?"  asked  Johnnie,  wanting 
a  definite  picture  in  his  mind. 

"A  proper  question! — And,  see!  The  old  gentleman's 
asleep  again!  Good!  Wheel  him  a  mite  away,  would  ye 
mind,  Miss  Narcissa?  He'll  dream  a  bit  better  if  he  isn't 


ANOTHER  STORY  279 

under  me  voice.  Thanks! — Well,  then,  first  o'  all,  I'll 
have  ye  take  note  o'  this  man's  general  appearance,  like. 
He  was  young,  as  men  go,  bein*  only  thirty-one;  though" 
— with  a  laugh  and  a  shake  of  the  head — "ye  think  him 
fairly  old,  don't  ye?  Ha!  But  the  day'll  come  when 
thirty-one'll  seem  t'  ye  like  a  baby  right  out  o'  the  cradle! 
Yes,  indeed! — But  t'  go  back  t'  the  man:  thirty-one  he 
was " 

"Was?"  inquired  Johnnie.  "Is  he  dead?  Or — or  may- 
be now  he's  thirty-two?" 

"He'll  be  thirty-one,"  said  Father  Pat,  "to  the  very 
end  o'  time.  For  he  is  dead,  lad  dear,  though  God  knows 
I  wish  I  cou?d  tell  ye  otherwise,  but  we'll  not  be  questionin' 
His  mercy  nor  His  judgment.  And  when  all  is  said  and 
done,  his  brave  death  is  somethin'  t'  give  thanks  for,  as 
ye'll  admit  fast  enough  when  ye've  heard. — Well,  Tnirty- 
one,  he  was,  and  about  me  own  height.  But  not  me  weight. 
No,  he  was  a  lighter- weighing  man.  He  had  sandyish 
hair,  this  gentleman,  and  a  smooth  face.  His  eyes  were 
gray-and-blue.  And  from  what  I  hear  about  him,  he 
smiled  a  good  deal,  and  was  friendly  t'  ev'rybody,  with  a 
nice  word  and  cheery  how-dy-do.  His  skin  was  high-col- 
ored like,  and  his  chin  was  solid  and  square,  and  he  had 
a  fine  straight  nose,  and — but  have  ye  got  it  all?" 

"Yes,  sir!"  Johnnie  scarcely  remembered  that  any  one 
else  was  with  them.  "Slim,  and  light-haired  (like  me), 
and  no  whiskers,  and  kind  of  gray  eyes,  and  all  his  face 
nice.  But  I  can't  see  it  'xac'ly  as  I'd  like  t',  'cause 
maybe  what  I  see  and  what  he  looked  like  ain't  just  the 
same." 

"In  that  case,"  replied  the  Father,  "it's  a  good  thing, 
I'm  thinkin',  that  I  brought  along  a  photograph !" 

There  it  was  in  his  hand.  He  held  it  (small  and  round, 
it  was)  cupped  by  a  big  palm ;  and  Johnnie,  leaning  for- 


280          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ward,  studied  the  pictured  countenance  carefully.  "That's 
right,"  went  on  the  priest ;  "look  at  it  close — close !" 

"I — I  like  him,"  Johnnie  said,  after  a  little.  "And  I'm 
awful  sorry  he's  dead. — But  please  go  on,  Father  Pat.  I 
want  t'  hear  'bout  him.  Though  if  the  story's  very  sad, 
why,  I'm  'f raid  that  Cis'll  cry." 

"I  won't,"  promised  Cis.  "But — hut  if  the  story  tells 
How  he  died,  I  don't  think  I'll  look  at  the  picture — not  just 
yet,  anyhow." 

The  priest  laid  the  photograph,  face  down,  upon  the 
table.  "It  isn't  that  Miss  Narcissa'll  cry,"  he  argued; 
"but,  oh,  what'll  we  say  t'  this  young  lady  when  she 
sees  us  weep? — for,  little  lad  dear,  this  is  a  tale — "  He 
broke  off,  then  and  there,  as  if  about  to  break  down  on  the 
spot.  But  coughed,  and  changed  feet,  thus  getting  control 
of  himself  once  more,  so  that  he  was  able  to  go  on. 

"This  young  man  I'm  tellin'  about  lived  in  Buffalo," 
continued  the  Father.  "Now  that  city  is  close  t*  the  noble 
Falls  that  ye're  so  fond  o'  visitin'  with  Grandpa.  Well, 
one  day  in  the  Spring " 

"Scuse  me!    Last  spring?"  Johnnie  interrupted. 

"Eight  long  springs  ago,"  answered  the  Father.  "Which 
would  make  ye  about  two  years  o'  age  at  the  time,  if  me 
arithmetic  is  workin'  fairly  well  t'day." 

"Two  is  right,"  declared  Johnnie,  with  the  certainty 
of  one  who  has  committed  to  memory,  page  by  page,  the 
whole  of  a  book  on  numbers. 

"But  as  ye  were  all  o'  four  years  old  at  the  time,"  cor- 
rected the  priest,  "eight  springs  ago  would  make  ye  twelve 
years  old  at  this  date " 

"Twelve?" 

"Ha-ha-a-a-!     Boy  scout  age!"  reminded  the  Father. 

At  that,  Johnnie,  quite  overcome  by  the  news,  tumbled 
sidewise  upon  One-Eye's  hairy  knees,  and  the  cowboy 
mauled  the  yellow  head  affectionately.  When  the  West- 


ANOTHER  STORY  281 

erner  set  Johnnie  up  again,  "So  ye  see  Mr.  Barber  shoved 
yer  age  back  a  bit  when  ye  first  came  here,"  explained  the 
priest.  "And  as  ye  was  shut  in  so  much,  and  that  made 
ye  small  for  yer  years,  why,  he  planned  t'  keep  ye  workin' 
for  him  just  that  much  longer.  Also,  it  helped  him  in 
holdin'  ye  out  o'  school." 

One-Eye's  mustache  was  standing  high  under  the  brown 
triangle  of  his  nose.  The  single  eye  was  burning.  "Oh, 
jes'  fer  a  good  ^.r-cuse !"  he  cried.  "Fer  a  chanst !  Fer  a' 
openin'!  And — it'll  come!  It'll  come!  I  ain't  goin*  t* 
leave  Noo  York,  neither,  till  I've  had  it !" 

If  Cis  caught  the  main  drift  of  all  this,  Johnnie  did  not. 
"I'd  like  t'  be  able  t'  send  word  t'  Mister  Perkins!" 
he  declared.  "Oh,  wouldn't  he  be  tickled,  though! — Cis, 
I  can  be  a  scout — this  minute !"  Then  apologetically,  "But 
I  won't  int'rrupt  y'  again,  Father  Pat.  I  know  letter, 
only  t'  hear  what  you  said  was  so  awful  fine !" 

"Ye're  excused,  scout  dear,"  declared  the  priest. 
"Shure,  it's  me  that's  glad  I  can  bring  a  bit  o*  good  news 
along  with  the  sad — which  is  the  way  life  goes,  bein'  more 
or  less  like  bacon,  the  lean  betwixt  the  fat.  And  now  I'll 
go  on  with  the  story  o'  the  young  man  and  his  wife, 
and " 

"There's  a  lady  in  the  story?"  asked  Cis. 

"A  dear  lady,"  answered  the  Father.  "Young  and 
slim,  she  was — scarce  more  than  a  girl.  With  brown  hair, 
I'm  told,  though  I'm  afraid  I  can't  furnish  ye  much  more 
o*  a  description,  and  I'm  sad  t5  say  I've  got  no  photo- 
graph." 

"Guess  I  won't  be  able  t'  see  her  face  the  way  I  do  his," 
said  Johnnie. 

"She  must've  been  very  sweet-lookin'  in  the  face,"  de- 
clared Father  Pat.  "And  bein'  as  good  as  she  was  good- 
lookin',  'tis  not  hard  t'  understand  why  he  loved  her  the 
way  he  did.  And  that  he  did  love  her,  far  above  anny- 


282          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

thing  else  in  the  world,  ye'll  understand  when  ye've  heard 
it  all.  So  think  o'  her  as  beautiful,  lad  dear,  and  as 
leanin'  on  him  always,  and  believin'  in  what  he  said,  and 
trustin'.  Also,  she  loved  him  in  the  same  way  that  he  loved 
her,  and  we'll  let  that  comfort  us  hereafter  whenever  we 
talk  about  them — the  strong,  clean,  fine,  young  husband, 
and  the  bit  o'  a  wife. 

"Well,  it  was  Spring,  and  they,  havin'  been  kept  in 
all  winter,  had  a  mind  one  day  t'  visit  the  Falls.  That 
same  day  was  lovely,  they  tell  me,  sunny  and  crisp.  And 
she  wore  a  long,  brown  coat  over  her  neat  dress,  and  a 
scarf  of  silk  veilin'  about  her  throat.  And  he  wore  his 
overcoat,  there  bein'  some  snap  in  the  air. 

"Quite  a  lot  o'  folks  was  goin'  out  upon  the  ice  below 
the  Falls,  for  the  thawin'  and  the  breakin'  up  was  not 
goin'  forward  too  much — they  thought — and  a  grand  view 
was  t'  be  had  o'  the  monster  frozen  floor,  and  the  icicles 
high  as  a  house.  So  this  gentleman  and  his  wife " 

"My  father  and  mother !"  cried  Johnnie.  "Oh,  Father 
Pat,  y're  goin'  t'  tell  me  how  they  both  got  drownded !" 

"Now!  now!  now!"  comforted  One-Eye,  with  a  pat  or 
two  on  a  shoulder.  "Y'  want  t'  know,  don't  y'?  Aw, 
sonny,  it'll  make  y'  proud!" 

Johnnie  could  only  nod.  The  Father  went  on :  "They 
went  out  upon  the  ice  with  all  the  others,  and  stood  gazin' 
up  at  the  beautiful  sight,  and  talkin',  I'll  venture  t*  say, 
about  how  wonderful  it  was,  and  sayin'  that  some  day 
they'd  bring  the  boy  t'  see  it." 

"Me," — and  Johnnie  drew  closer  to  One-Eye. 

"Only  a  bit  o'  a  baby,  ye  was,  lad  dear,  safe  at  home 
with  yer  Aunt  Sophie,  but  big  enough  t'  be  put  into  ev'ry 
one  o'  their  dreams  and  plans.  — So  when  they'd  looked 
long,  and  with  pleasure,  at  the  fairy  work  o'  the  frozen 
water,  they  turned  and  watched  downstream.  There  was 
a  vast  floor  o'  ice  in  that  direction,  all  covered  still  with 


ANOTHER  STORY  283 

snow.  At  the  far  edge  o'  the  floor  showed  open  water, 
flowin'  in  terrible  wildness,  so  that  no  boat  ever  rides  safely 
in  it,  nor  can  anny  man  swim  through  it  and  live. 

"The  rapids  lay  below  there,  but  these  were  a  long  way 
off  from  the  sightseers  at  the  Falls.  They  could  see  the 
tumblin',  perhaps,  and  maybe  hear  the  roar.  But  what 
was  under  their  feet  was  firm  as  the  ground,  and  they  felt 
no  fear." 

"But — but  was  it  safe?"  Johnnie  faltered.  "Oh, 
Father  Pat,  I'm  'fraid  it  wasn't !" 

"Where  they  stood,  it  was,"  declared  the  Father.  "But 
all  at  once,  a  smart  puff  o'  wind  caught  that  pretty  wisp 
o*  veilin'  from  the  young  wife,  and  wafted  it  away.  And 
as  quick  as  the  wind  itself  after  it  she  darted;  but  when 
she  was  close  to  it,  up  and  off  it  whirled  again,  and  she 
followed  it,  and  he  after  her,  and — shouts  o'  warniri  from 
all!" 

Johnnie  took  his  underlip  in  his  teeth.  By  that  power 
of  his  to  call  before  him  vividly  the  people  and  places  and 
things  he  heard,  or  read,  about,  and  to  see  everything  as 
if  it  were  before  him,  now  he  was  seeing  the  snow-covered 
flooring  of  the  river,  the  hastening  figure  headed  toward 
danger,  and  the  frightened  one  who  pursued,  while  the  sun 
shone,  and  voices  called,  and  the  river  roared  below. 

"There  was  good  reason  t'  shout,"  continued  the  priest. 
"For  by  a  bitter  chance  the  ice  had  cracked  clear  across 
'twixt  where  the  two  were  hastenin'  and  where  they  had 
stood  before." 

Now  Johnnie  suddenly  grew  white,  and  his  lip  quivered 
out  from  its  hold.  "But  they  must  go  back,  Father  Pat !" 
he  cried,  his  breast  heaving.  "Oh,  they  must  go  back!" 

"They  can't,"  answered  the  Father,  speaking  very  low. 
"Oh,  dear  lad,  they're  cut  off  from  the  shore.  There's  a 
big  rift  in  the  ice  now,  and  it's  growin'  each  moment  big- 


284          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ger,   and  they're  on  the  wrong  side  o*  it,  and — floatin' 
down  river." 

One-Eye  slipped  an  arm  about  Johnnie,  drawing  the 
bright  head  to  a  shoulder.  "Are  y'  all  right,  sonny?"  he 
asked  huskily.  "Can  y'  hear  the  rest  ?  Or " 

"Yes," — but  it  was  scarcely  a  whisper,  and  the  flaxen 
lashes  were  shuttering  the  gray  eyes  tight.  "I — I  ought 
tj  be  able  t*  stand  just  hearin'  it,  if — if  they  could  stand 
the  really  thing." 

"I  don't  want  t'  break  the  wee  heart  o*  ye,"  protested 
the  Father,  tenderly.  "And  so  maybe  we'll  wait?" 

"No,  sir."  Johnnie  opened  his  eyes.  "I'm  goin'  t*  feel 
b-bad.  But  please  don't  mind  me.  I'm  thinkin'  of  Edith 
Cavell,  and  that'll  help." 

"God  love  the  lad!"  returned  the  Father,  choking  a 
little.  <v  "And  I'll  go  on.  For  I'm  thinkin'  it's  better  t' 
hear  the  truth,  even  when  that  truth  is  bitter,  than  t'  be 
anxiously  in  doubt."  Then,  Johnnie  having  assented  by 
a  nod,  "That  rift  grew  wider  and  wider.  As  they  stopped 
runnin'  after  the  veil,  and  turned,  they  saw  it,  the  two  o' 
them.  'Tis  said  that  the  young  wife  gave  a  great  cry,  and 
ran  back  towards  the  Falls,  and  stood  close  t'  the  rim  o* 
the  ice,  and  held  out  her  two  hands  most  pitiful.  But  all 
who  were  on  the  ice  had  scattered,  the  most  t'  hurry  t' 
do  somethin'  which  would  help." 

"Oh,  they  must  hurry!" — it  was  Cis  this  time,  the 
pointed  chin  trembling. 

"Ropes — they  got  ropes,  for  there  was  a  monster  bridge 
below,  which  the  two  will  pass  under  before  long,  as  the 
ice-cake  floats  that  far.  And  the  ropes  must  be  ready,  and 
let  down  t'  save  'em. — Yes,  rods  o'  rope  were  lowered,  as 
fast  as  this  could  be  managed,  and  as  close  as  possible  t' 
where  the  men  on  the  bridge  judged  the  pair  on  the  ice 
would  go  by.  There  was  a  big  loop  in  the  end  that  trailed 
t'  the  river.  But  long  as  that  rope  was,  shure,  it  wasn't 


ANOTHER  STORY  285 

long  enough,  though  the  man  was  able  t*  catch  it — and 
what  a  shout  o'  joy  went  up! — and  he  could've  slipped  it 
over  his  own  head  as  easy  as  easy,  but  he  would  not  do  it 
— no,  not  without  Tier.  But,  oh,  as  he  leaned  to  drop  the 
big  loop  around  her  (  another  rope  was  comin'  down  at  the 
same  time  for  him),  she  weakened,  and  fainted  in  his  arms, 
and  lay  there  in  the  snow. 

"He  lifted  her — quick!     But  before  he  could  pass  the 
loop  over  her  head,  the  current  swept  her  on.     Now  there 
was  still  time  for  him  t'  spring  back  and  save  himself— 
save  her,  he  could  not.     But  he  would  not  leave  her  lyin* 
there  and  save  himself,  and  so — and  so " 

*'Oh,  has  he  got  t*  die?"  pleaded  Johnnie,  brokenly. 

"Johnnie,"  went  on  the  Father,  gently,  "we're  not  on 
this  earth  just  t'  have  a  good  time,  or  an  easy  time, — no, 
or  a  safe  time.  We're  here  t'  do  our  duty,  and  this  is  how 
yer  father  thought.  Lad,  dear,  some  day  ye'll  come  t'  a 
tight  place  yerself.  And  ye'll  have  t'  decide  what  ye're 
t'  do:  go  this  way,  which  is  the  easiest,  or  that,  which  is 
the  hard  path  o'  duty,  a  path  which'll  take  all  the  pluck 
ye've  got,  but  the  right  one,  nevertheless — the  fine,  true 
way.  And  when  such  a  time  comes,  shure,  ye'll  remember 
what  he  did  that  day " 

Johnnie's  eyes  were  closed  again.  From  under  his  shin- 
ing lashes  the  tears  were  beginning  to  creep,  finding  their 
way  in  long  letter  S's  down  his  pale  cheeks.  "I'll  think  o' 
what  my  father  did!"  he  answered.  "Oh,  I  will,  Father 
Pat!  My  fine,  wonderful  father!" 

"Could  he  have  chosen  t'  be  saved,  and  leave  the  young 
wife  there  ?  O'  course,  he  could  not — if  ever  he  wanted  t' 
have  a  peaceful  thought  again,  or  the  respect  o'  men  and 
women.  But  maybe  he  didn't  even  think  o'  all  this,  but 
just  did  the  brave  act  naturally — instinctively.  No,  he 
would  not  be  saved  without  her.  And— the  ropes  were  both 


286          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

out  o'  reach,  now,  and  the  ice  cake  was  floatin*  swifter, 
and  swifter,  and,  dear !  dear !  breakin'  at  one  side. 

"His  wife  in  his  arms,  he  faced  about,  holdin'  the 
slim,  brown  figure  against  his  heart.  He  was  talkin'  to  her 
then,  I'll  be  bound,  sayin'  all  the  tender,  lovin'  things  that 
could  ease  her  agony,  though  as,  mercifully  enough  now, 
she  was  limp  in  his  hold,  likely  she  could  not  even  hear." 

"Oh,  I  hope  so !"  said  Cis.  "Then  she  wouldn't  be  suf- 
fering !" 

"From  the  shore  the  people  watched  them,  and  from  the 
bridge.  But  manny  could  not  watch,  for,  ah,  'twas  a 
tragic  sight.  Some  o'  these  prayed ;  some  hid  their  faces. 
But  others  shouted — in  encouragement,  maybe,  or  just  ter- 
ror. Annyhow,  the  young  husband,  hearin'  the  calls,  lifted 
his  face  t'  that  high  bridge.  And  'twas  then  he  called — 
just  once,  but  they  heard.  And  what  he  called  was  a  sin- 
gle name,  and  that  name  was — Johnnie." 

Down  went  Cis's  head  then,  and  she  wept  without  re- 
straint. But  Johnnie  was  somehow  uplifted  now,  as  by 
pride.  "I  can  see  him !"  he  cried.  "My  father !  Just  as 
plain!"  He  sat  up  straight  again,  though  his  eyes  were 
still  shut.  "I  can  see  his  face,  smilin',  and  his  light  hair ! 
Why,  it's  as  if  he  was  lookin*  straight  at  me!"  Then 
trembling  again  into  One-Eye's  hold,  "But  I  can't  see  my 
mother's  face,  'cause  it's  turned  away,  hidin'  on  my  fath- 
er's shoulder.  I  can  see  just  her  back.  Oh,  my — poor — 
m-mother !" 

"He  was  thinkin'  o'  the  baby  he  was  leavin'  behind," 
went  on  the  priest,  "in  that  last  moment  o'  his  life.  And  if 
she  was,  too,  then  it's  no  wonder  the  gentle  thing  couldn't 
lift  her  head." 

"Oh!  Oh,  Father  Pat!"— while  One-Eye  stroked  the 
yellow  hair  he  had  ruffled,  and  whispered  fondly  under  that 
dun  mustache. 

"The  ice  was  near  the  rapids  now,  so  there  isn't  a  great 


ANOTHER  STORY  287 

deal  more  t'  tell,"  continued  the  Father.  "He  put  up  one 
hand,  did  yer  father,  wavin'  it  in  a  last  salute — thankin', 
maybe,  the  men  who  had  worked  so  hard  with  the  ropes. — 
O  God  o'  Mercy,  wast  Thou  not  lookin'  down  upon  Thy 
servant  as  he  gave  his  life  cheerfully  just  t'  comfort  hers 
one  minute  longer? 

"The  agony  was  short.  The  rapids  caught  the  cake, 
which  whirled  like  a  wheel — once.  Then  it  tipped,  breakin* 
again,  crumblin'  t'  bits  under  them,  and  they  sank.  There 
was  just  a  glimpse,  a  second's,  o'  his  head,  shinin'  in  the 
sun.  Then  they  were  gone — gone.  God  rest  his  soul — 
his  brave,  brave  soul !  And  God  rest  her  soul,  too !"  The 
Father  crossed  himself. 

After  awhile,  having  wiped  his  own  eyes,  he  went  on 
once  more:  "Behind  them  swayed  the  rope  as  the  men  on 
the  bridge  slowly  dragged  it  up  and  up.  And  th<*  people 
everywhere  turned  away,  and  started  slowly  home.  Not 
alt'gether  sadly,  though.  For  they'd  seen  a  beautiful 
thing  done,  one  which  was  truly  sublime.  And  later  in  yer 
life,  lad  dear,  when  ye  hear  tell,  manny  a  time,  how  this 
boy  or  that  has  had  somethin'  left  t'  him  by  his  father — 
land,  maybe,  or  a  great  house,  or  money — then  don't  ye 
fail  t'  remember  what  was  left  t'  yerself !  For  yer  father 
left  ye  more  than  riches.  He  left  ye  the  right  t'  be  proud 
o'  him,  and  t'  respect  and  honor  him,  and  there's  no  grander 
inheritance  than  that!  And  the  sweetness  which  was  yer 
mother's,  along  with  the  bravery  o'  yer  father,  all  are 
yer  own,  comin'  tj  ye  in  their  blood  which  courses  through 
yer  own  veins.  Inheritance !  What  a  lot  is  in  the  word ! 
Manny's  the  time  I've  wondered  about  ye — how  ye  love 
what's  decent  and  good — good  books,  and  right  conduct, 
and  t'  be  clean,  and  all  the  rest  o'  it.  But  now  I  under- 
stand why.  Come  t'  me,  little  son  o'  a  good  mother !  Lit- 
tle son  o'  a  brave  father !"  The  priest  held  out  his  hand. 

As  Johnnie  came,  Father  Pat  took  from  a  pocket  a 


288          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

leather  case  which,  when  opened,  disclosed — was  it  a  piece 
of  money?  or  an  ornament?  Johnnie  could  not  decide. 
But  it  was  round,  and  beautiful,  and  of  gold.  Taken  from 
its  case,  it  was  heavy.  On  the  obverse  side  it  bore  the 
likeness  of  a  man  as  old,  nearly,  as  Grandpa ;  on  the  re- 
verse, cut  in  a  splendid  circle,  were  the  words,  Greater  love 
hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his 
friends.  In  the  center,  in  lasting  letters  of  metal,  were 
other  words :  Awarded  to  William  BlaJce. 

"  'Tis  a  medal,"  explained  the  Father,  "and  'twas 
awarded  to  that  husband  who  would  not  save  himself  if 
he  could  not  save  his  wife." 

"Is — is  that  my  father's  picture?"  Johnnie  asked,  under 
his  breath. 

"No,  lad  dear.  'Tis  Andrew  Carnegie,  that — the 
founded  of  the  Carnegie  Hero  Fund.  He  was  a  poor  boy 
when  he  came  to  America  from  Scotland.  And,  Johnnie, 
dear,  books  was  what  he  loved,  and  when  he  was  a  little 
telegraph  messenger,  he'd  read  when  he  could,  in  betwixt 
scamperin'  here  and  there  with  messages.  He  lived  to  make 
a  fortune,  and  much  of  that  fortune  he  spent  in  buildin* 
libraries  for  those  who  can't  afford  to  buy  their  own 
books.  And  he  did  manny  other  things,  and  one  o'  'em  was 
— t'  leave  an  educational  award  t'  the  wee  son  o'  a  certain 
hero  I  could  name,  so  that  the  lad,  as  soon  as  he  was  big 
enough,  could  go  t'  school  and  college.  Now,  who  d'  ye 
think  I  mean?" 

Johnnie  knew;  yet  it  was  all  so  sudden  that  he  could 
not  wholly  realize  it.  "Money  for  school,  lad  dear,"  re- 
peated the  priest.  "It's  been  waitin'  for  ye  this  long  time. 
But  Mr.  Tom  Barber  didn't  happen  t'  know  about  it,  and 
we'll  not  be  sayin'  a  word  t'  him  just  yet.  No ;  I'm 
thinkin'  the  news  would  be  the  end  o'  the  dear  man — so 
much  money  in  the  family,  and  him  not  able  t'  put  his 
hands  on  a  cent!" 


ANOTHER  STORY  289 

When  Father  Pat  was  gone,  One-Eye  with  him,  he  left 
behind,  not  a  sorrowing  little  boy,  who  blamed  Fate  for 
having  robbed  him  of  both  father  and  mother  in  one  ter- 
ribly tragic  hour,  but  a  boy  who  was  very  proud.  There 
was  this  about  him,  too:  he  did  not  feel  fatherless  and 
motherless  any  longer,  but  as  if  the  priest  had,  somehow, 
given  him  parents. 

"And,  oh,  wasn't  it  a  beautiful  story?"  Cis  asked,  as 
they  put  the  medal  in  a  pocket  of  the  new  scout  coat. 
(The  picture  Father  Pat  had  carried  away  to  have  copied.) 
"Johnnie,  I  feel  as  if  I'd  been  to  church!  It's  like  the 
passing  of  Arthur — so  sad,  but  so  wonderful !  Oh,  John- 
nie Blake,  think  of  it !  You're  twelve !  and  you  can  go  to 
school !  and  you're  the  son  of  a  hero !" 

"Yes,"  said  Johnnie.  As  he  had  not  done  the  work 
which  he  knew  Big  Tom  expected  of  him  that  Suncfey,  now 
he  got  out  the  materials  for  his  violet-making  and  began 
busily  shaping  flowers.  "And  I'm  goin'  t'  be  a  scout  right 
off,  too,"  he  reminded.  "So  I  mustn't  shirk,  'r  they  won't 
give  me  a  badge!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

EEVOLT 

'"^TT^AKE  two  cupfuls  of  milk,' "  read  JoKnnie,  wHo 
was  bent  over  his  newest  possession,  a  paper- 
covered  cookbook  presented  him  only  that  morn- 
ing by  his  good  friend  overhead ;  "  'three  tablespoonfuls 
of  sugar,  one-half  saltspoonful  of  salt'  (only,  not  havin'  a 
saltspoon,  I'll  just  put  in  a  pinch),  'one-half  teaspoonful 
of  vani'la'  (  and  I  wonder  what  vanilla  is,  and  maybe  I  bet- 
ter ask  Mrs.  Kukor,  but  if  she  hasn't  got  any,  can  I  leave 
vanilla  out?),  'the  yolks  of  three  eggs' — "  Here  he 
stopped.  "But  I  haven't  got  any  eggs !"  he  sighed.  And 
once  more  began  turning  the  pages  devoted  to  desserts. 

This  sudden  interest  in  new  dishes  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  the  Merit  Badge  for  Cooking.  The  fact 
was,  he  was  about  to  make  a  pudding;  and  the  pudding  was 
to  be  made  solely  for  the  purpose  of  pleasing  the  palate 
of  Mr.  Tom  Barber. 

Johnnie  had  on  his  scout  uniform.  And  it  was  remark- 
able what  that  uniform  always  did  for  him  in  the  matter 
of  changing  his  feelings  toward  the  longshoreman.  The 
big,  old,  ragged  clothes  on,  the  boy  might  be  glad  to  see 
Barber  go  for  the  day,  and  even  harbor  a  little  of  his 
former  hate  for  him;  but  the  scout  clothes  once  donned, 
their  very  snugness  seemed  to  straighten  out  his  thoughts 
as  well  as  his  spine,  the  former  being  uplifted,  so  to  speak, 
along  with  Johnnie's  chin!  Yes,  even  the  buttons  of  the 
khaki  coat,  each  embossed  with  the  design  of  the  scout 

290 


REVOLT  291 

badge,  helped  him  to  that  state  of  mind  which  Cis  described 
as  "good  turny."  Now  as  he  scanned  the  pages  of  the 
cookbook,  those  two  upper  bellows  pockets  of  his  beloved 
coat  (his  father's  medal  was  in  the  left  one)  heaved  up  and 
down  proudfully  at  the  mere  thought  of  to-day's  good 
deed. 

He  began  to  chant  another  recipe :  "  'One  pint  of  milk, 
three  tablespoonfuls  of  sugar,  two  heapin'  tablespoonfuls 
of  cornstarch' " 

Another  halt.  The  cupboard  boasted  no  cornstarch. 
Nor  was  there  gelatine  in  stock,  with  which  to  make  a  gay- 
colored,  wobbly  jelly.  As  for  prune  souffle,  he  could  make 
that  easily  enough.  But — the  longshoreman  did  not  want 
to  lay  eyes  on  another  prune  souffle  before  Washington's 
Birthday,  at  least,  and  the  natal  anniversary  of  the  Father 
of  His  Country  was  still  a  long  way  off.  • 

Apple  fritters,  then?  But  they  took  apples.  And 
brown  betty  had  the  boldness  to  demand  molasses  on  top 
of  apples! 

He  turned  more  pages. 

Then  he  found  his  recipe.  He  knew  that  the  moment  his 
eye  caught  the  name — "poor  man's  pudding."  He  bustled 
about,  washing  some  rice,  then  making  the  fire.  All  the 
while  he  hummed  softly.  He  was  especially  happy  these 
days,  for  only  the  week  before  he  had  been  visited  by  his 
Uncle  Albert,  looking  a  trifle  changed  after  these  five 
years,  but  still  the  kindly,  cheerful  Uncle  Albert  of  the  old 
days  in  the  rich  man's  garage. 

He  fell  to  talking  aloud.  "I  got  milk,"  he  said,  "and 
I  got  salt,  and  sugar,  and  the  rinds  o'  some  oranges. 
They're  dry,  but  if  I  scrape  'em  into  the  puddin',  Mrs. 
Kukor  says  they'll  make  it  taste  fine!  I'll  give  Mister 
Barber  a  bowl  t'  eat  it  out  of.  My !  how  he'll  smack !" 

At  this  point,  the  wide,  old  boards  of  the  floor  gave  a 
telltale  snap.  It  was  behind  him,  and  so  loud  that  it  shat- 


292         THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

tered  his  vision  of  Big  Tom  and  the  pudding  bowl.  Some 
one  was  in  the  room!  Father  Pat?  Mrs.  Kukor?  One- 
Eye? 

He  turned  a  smiling  face. 

What  he  saw  made  him  even  forget  that  he  had  on  the 
beloved  scout  suit.  In  the  first  shock,  he  wondered  how 
they  could  have  come  up  and  in  without  his  hearing  them ; 
and,  second,  if  he  was  just  thinking  one  of  his  thinks,  and 
had  himself  lured  these  two  familiar  shapes  into  the 
kitchen.  For  there,  in  arm's  length  of  him,  standing  face 
to  face,  were — Big  Tom  and  Cis. 

They  were  real.  In  the  next  breath,  Johnnie  knew  it. 
No  think  of  his  would  show  them  to  him  looking  as  they 
now  looked.  For  Barber's  heavy,  dark  countenance  was 
working  as  he  chewed  on  nothing  ferociously ;  while  Cis 
— in  alt >  the  past  five  years  Johnnie  had  never  before  seen 
her  face  as  it  was  now.  It  was  set  and  drawn,  and  a  raging 
white,  so  that  the  blue  veins  stood  out  in  a  clear  pattern 
on  her  temples.  Her  hat  hung  down  grotesquely  at  one 
side  of  her  head.  Her  hair  was  in  wild  disarray.  And  her 
eyes !  They  were  a  blazing  black ! 

What  had  happened? 

"Let  go  of  me !"  Cis  demanded,  in  a  voice  that  was  not 
hers  at  all.  Barber  had  hold  of  her  arm.  With  a  sudden 
twist  she  freed  herself.  , 

"Here!"  Her  stepfather  seized  her  again,  and  jerked 
her  to  a  place  beside  him.  "And  none  o'  y'r  loud  talk,  d'  y' 
understand?" 

"Yes,  I  understand!"  she  answered  defiantly,  yet  with- 
out lowering  her  voice.  "But  I  don't  care  what  you  want ! 
I'll  speak  the  way  I  want  to !  I'll  yell — Ee-e-e " 

But  even  as  she  began  the  shriek,  one  of  his  great  hands 
grasped  the  whole  lower  half  of  her  face,  covering  it,  and 
stopping  the  cry. 

The  next  moment  she  was  gasping  and  struggling  as  she 


REVOLT  293 

fought  his  hold.  She  tried  to  pull  backward.  She  dragged 
at  his  hand  as  she  circled  him. 

It  was  a  strange  contest,  so  quiet,  yet  so  fierce.  It  was 
not  like  something  that  Johnnie  was  really  seeing:  it  was 
like  one  of  those  thinks  of  his — a  terrible  one.  Bewildered, 
fascinated,  paralyzed,  he  watched,  and  the  matches 
dropped,  scattering,  from  his  hands. 

The  contest  was  pitifully  unequal.  All  at  once  the  girl's 
strength  gave  out.  Her  knees  bent  under  her.  She  swayed 
toward  Big  Tom,  and  would  have  fallen  if  he  had  not  held 
her  up — by  that  hand  over  her  mouth  as  well  as  by  the 
grasp  he  had  kept  on  her  elbow.  Now  those  huge,  tonglike 
arms  of  his  caught  her  clear  of  the  floor  and  half  threw, 
half  dropped,  her  upon  the  kitchen  chair. 

"You  set  there !"  commanded  Barber. 

Too  spent  for  speech,  but  still  determined  not  to  obey 
him,  Cis  tried  to  leave  the  chair,  and  drew  herself  partly 
up  by  grasping  the  table.  But  she  could  not  stand,  and 
sank  back.  At  one  corner  of  her  mouth  showed  a  trickle 
of  blood,  like  a  scarlet  thread. 

The  sight  of  it  brought  Johnnie  to  her  in  an  agony  of 
concern.  "Oh,  Cis  !"  he  implored.  , 

With  one  flail-like  swing  of  a  great  arm,  Barber  swept 
the  boy  aside.  "Stay  where  y'  are!"  he  said  to  Cis  (he 
did  not  even  look  at  Johnnie).  Then  he  crossed  to  the 
hall  door,  which  was  shut,  and  deliberately  bolted  it.  The 
clash  between  him  and  Cis  had  been  so  quiei  that  Grandpa 
had  not  even  been  wakened.  Now  Barber  went  to  the 
wheel  chair,  and  gently,  slowly,  began  to  trundle  it  toward 
the  bedroom.  "Time  t'  go  t'  s'eep,  Pa,"  he  said  coaxingly. 
"Yes,  time  for  old  man  t'  go  s'eepy-s'eepy."  When  the 
chair  was  across  the  sill,  he  closed  the  door  upon  it. 

Meanwhile,  Johnnie  had  again  moved  nearer  to  Cis. 
Now  was  his  chance  to  get  away  in  his  uniform  and  change 
into  his  old  clothes;  to  gather  up  his  old,  big  shirt  and 


294          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

trousers  from  where  they  lay  on  the  morris  chair,  unbolt 
the  door,  and  make  for  that  flight  of  stairs  leading  up  to 
the  roof.  But — he  did  not  even  think  of  going,  of  leaving 
her  when  she  needed  him  so.  He  wanted  to  help  her,  to 
comfort.  "Oh,  Cis !"  he  whispered  again. 

She  seemed  not  to  hear  him,  and  she  did  not  turn  her 
burning  eyes  his  way.  Breathing  hard,  and  sobbing  with 
anger  under  her  breath,  she  stared  at  Barber.  Her  lip 
was  swelling.  Her  face  was  crimson  from  her  fight.  Drops 
of  perspiration  glistened  on  her  forehead. 

Barber's  underlip  was  thrust  out  as  he  came  back  to  her. 
"Y*  ain't  got  the  decency  t'  be  quiet!"  he  charged,  "in 
front  o'  that  poor  old  man!" 

Now  she  had  breath  to  answer.  She  straightened  in  her 
chair,  and  met  him  with  a  boldness  odd  when  coming  from 
her.  "Grandpa  isn't  the  only  person  in  this  flat  to  be  con- 
sidered, she  returned. 

"Jus'  the  same" — Big  Tom  shook  a  finger  in  her  face — 
"he's  the  -first  one  that's  goin'  t'  be  considered!" 

" Johnnie  and  I  have  our  rights  !"  she  cried. 

As  she  spoke  his  name,  Johnnie's  heart  leaped  so  that  it 
choked  him — with  gratitude,  and  love,  and  admiration. 

"Never  mind  y'r  rights!"  the  longshoreman  counseled. 
"I  begin  t'  see  through  you!  Y're  a  little  sneak,  that's 
what  y*  are!  Look  at  the  crazy  way  y're  actin',  and  I 
thought  y'  was  a  quiet  girl!  Y'  been  pretty  cute  about 
hidin'  what  y're  up  to !" 

"Hiding!"  she  answered,  resentful.  "What  do  I  have 
to  hide  from  you?  What  I  do  is  none  of  your  business ! 
I'm  not  a  relation  of  yours !  and  I'm  seventeen !  And  from 
now  on " 

"Oh,  drop  that!"  interrupted  Barber.  "Y'  waste  y'r 
breath !"  Then  with  another  shake  of  the  finger,  "What 
I  want  t'  know — and  the  truth,  mind  y' ! — is  how  long  has 


REVOLT  295 

this  been  goin'  on?"  He  leaned  on  the  table  to  peer  into 
her  eyes. 

Going  on  ?  Johnnie's  look  darted  from  one  to  the  other. 
Had  Cis  been  staying  away  from  the  factory?  Had  she 
been  taking  some  of  her  earnings  to  see  a  moving-picture? 
or 

"I  don't  have  to  tell  you !"  Cis  declared. 

"I'm  the  man  that  feeds  y'!"  Barber  reminded.  "Jus' 
remember  that!" 

"You've  taken  my  earnings,"  she  returned.  "You've 
taken  every  cent  I've  ever  got  for  my  work!  And  don't 
you  forget  that!" 

"Ev'ry  girl  brings  home  her  wages,"  answered  the  long- 
shoreman. "And  don't  y'  forgit  that  I  fed  y'  many  a  year 
before  y'  was  able  t'  work " 

"While  my  mother  was  living,  she  earned  mj  food!" 
Cis  cried.  "And  I've  worked,  just  as  Johnnie  has,  ever 
since  I  was  a  baby !" 

"Have  y'?  Bosh!  Y' been  a  big  expense  t'  me,  that's 
what  y'  been,  for  all  these  past  ten  years !  And  now,  jus' 
when  y're  old  enough  t'  begin  payin'  me  back  a  little,  here 
y'  go  t'  actin'  up !  Well,  you  was  left  in  my  hands.  I'm 
only  stepfather  to  y'.  All  right.  But  I'm  goin'  t'  see 
that  y'  behave  y'rself." 

"You've  got  nothing  to  say  about  me !"  she  persisted. 

"No  ?  I'll  show  y' !  But  what  I  want  t'  know  now  is, 
how  many  times  have  you  met  this  dude  at  the  noon  hour?" 

Then  Johnnie  understood  what  had  happened. 

"Ha-a-a-a !"  Cis  threw  back  her  head  with  a  taunting 
laugh.  "Dude!  So  he's  a  dude,  is  he?  But  I  notice,  big 
as  you  are,  that  you  didn't  let  Mr.  Perkins  know  you'd 
been  watching  us !  You  didn't  come  up  to  the  bench  and 
speak  to  him!  No !  You  waited  till  he  was  gone !  You 
were  only  brave  enough  to  do  your  talking  in  front  of  a 
lot  of  girls !  Ha-a-a-a !"  Then  her  anger  mounting,  "Fou 


296          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

talk  about  sneaking!  That's  because  you've  sneaked  and 
followed  us !" 

"Y're  too  young  t'  have  any  whipper-snapper  trailin' 
'round  with  y' — noons,  'r  any  other  time,"  declared  Bar- 
ber. 

"My  mother  married  when  she  was  seventeen !"  retorted 
Cis. 

"It'll  be  time  enough  for  y'  t'  be  thinkin'  o'  beaus  when 
y're  twenty,"  went  on  Big  Tom,  quietly. 

She  stood  up.  "You  hate  to  see  anybody  happy,  don't 
you?"  she  asked  scornfully.  "You're  afraid  maybe  Mr. 
Perkins  will  like  me,  and  want  me  to  marry  him,  and  give 
me  a  good  home !" 

"You  can  put  that  Perkins  out  o'  y'r  head,"  commanded 
the  longshoreman.  "When  y're  old  enough,  o'  course,  y're 
goin'  ff/narry ;  but  I  plan  t'  have  y'  marry  a  man." 

"Mr.  Perkins  is  a  man,"  she  answered,  not  cowed  or 
frightened  in  the  least. 

"Not  my  notion  o'  a  man,"  said  Big  Tom. 

"I  like  him  all  the  better  for  that!"  she  returned — an 
answer  which  stung  and  angered  him  anew,  for  he  caught 
her  roughly  once  more  and  hurled  her  back  into  her  chair. 

She  stayed  there  for  a  moment,  panting.  Then,  "I'm 
going  to  marry  Mr.  Perkins,"  she  told  him.  "To-morrow 
—if  I  liver 

"T'morrow!"  He  shouted  the  word.  "What're  y' 
talkin'  about?  I'll  Mil  y'  first !  I'll " 

"Oh,  don't!"  As  Barber  reached  to  seize  Cis  again, 
Johnnie  dragged  at  his  sleeve. 

But  the  longshoreman  did  not  notice  him.  It  was  Cis 
who  cried  out  to  Johnnie,  still  defying  Big  Tom.  "Oh, 
let  him  do  what  he  wants !"  she  said.  "Because  he  won't 
have  a  chance  even  to  speak  to  me  after  to-day !  Let  him ! 
Let  him!" 


REVOLT  297 

Barber  shook  her,  and  stepped  back.  "After  t'-day," 
he  told  her,  "y'll  work  right  here  at  home !" 

"Home !  Homer  She  laughed  wildly.  "Do  you  call 
this  a  home  ?" 

"I'll  see  that  y'  behave  y'rself !"  he  vowed. 

"You'd  better  see  that  you  behave  yourself!"  she  re- 
torted. "Because  Johnnie  doesn't  belong  to  you — you 
haven't  any  rights  over  him !  And  he's  gone  once,  and  he'll 
go  again — after  I  go !  And  I'm  going  the  minute  I  can 
stand  on  my  feet!  I've  stayed  here  long  enough!  Then 
you  can  try  it  alone  for  a  change !" 

"Oh,  can  I?" 

"I'll  never  do  another  thing  for  you !"  she  went  on ;  " — in 
this  flat  or  out !  No,  not  in  all  the  rest  of  my  life !  Oh, 
I'm  not  like  Johnnie !  I  can't  pretend  it's  beautiful  when 
it's  awful !  and  imagine  good  clothes,  and  decent  fffod,  and 
have  my  friends  driven  away,  and  insulted !  I  won't  stand 
it !  I  know  what's  wrong!  I  see  things  the  way  they  are ! 
And  I'm  not  going  to  put  up  with  them!  No  girl  could 
bear  what  you  ask  me  to  bear!  This  flat!  My  room! 
The  way  I  have  to  work — at  the  factory,  and  then  here, 
too !  And  no  butter !  No  fruit !  And  the  mean  snarling, 
snarling,  snarling !  And  never  a  cent  for  myself !" 

It  had  all  come  pouring  out,  her  voice  high,  almost  hys- 
terical. And  if  it  surprised  Johnnie,  who  had  never  be- 
fore seen  Cis  other  than  quiet  and  gentle  and  sweet,  mod- 
est, wistful  and  shrinking,  it  appalled  Barber.  Those  eyes 
of  his  bulged  still  more.  His  great  mouth  stood  wide 
open. 

Presently,  he  straightened  and  looked  up  and  around. 
"Well,  I  guess  I  see  what's  got  t'  be  done,"  he  remarked 
casually. 

The  strap — it  was  Johnnie's  first  thought ;  Barber  was 
getting  ready  to  whip  Cis !  Never  before  had  the  boy  seen 
her  threatened,  and  the  mere  idea  was  beyond  his  enduring. 


298         THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"Oh,  Mister  Barber !"  he  protested.  "Oh,  what  y'  goin'  t' 
do?" 

For  an  answer,  the  longshoreman  swung  a  big  arm  over 
his  own  head  and  gave  such  a  mighty  pull  at  the  clothesline 
that  it  came  loose  from  its  fastening  at  either  end. 

"Cis!  He'll  kill  y»!"  cried  the  boy,  suddenly  terror- 
stricken. 

Girls  could  be  brave !  Father  Pat  had  said  it,  and  Edith 
Cavell  had  proved  it.  Cis  was  proving  it,  too !  For  now 
she  rose  once  more,  and  though  she  was  trembling,  it  was 
only  with  anger,  not  with  fear.  "He  can  kill  me  if  he 
wants  to!"  she  cried  defiantly.  "But  he  can't  make  me 
mind  him,  and  he  can't  make  me  stay  in  this  flat !" 

Then  Johnnie  knew  what  he  must  do :  bear  himself  like 
the  scout  he  was  so  soon  to  be.  Also,  was  he  not  the  son 
of  his  rather?  And  his  father  had  been  braver  than  any 
scout.  So  he  himself  must  be  extra  brave.  He  flung  him- 
self against  Barber,  and  clung  to  him,  his  arms  wound 
round  one  massive  leg.  "Oh,  Mister  Barber !"  he  entreated. 
"Don't  hurt  Cis !  Lick  me!  Lick  me!" 

But  Barber  could  not  be  easily  diverted  from  his  plan. 
"You  git  out  o'  my  way!"  he  ordered  fiercely.  A  heave 
of  one  big  leg,  and  he  slung  the  boy  to  one  side — without 
even  turning  to  look  at  him  as  he  fell.  Then  again  he 
turned  to  Cis. 

"You  keep  your  hands  off  of  me !"  she  warned.  "If  you 
touch  me,  you'll  be  sorry ! — Oh,  I  hate  you !  I  hate  you ! 
7  hate  you!" 

Barber  laughed.  "So  y'  hate  me,  do  y'?"  he  demanded. 
"And  y'  ain't  goin'  t'  stay  one  more  night !  Well,  maybe 
y'll  change  y'r  mind !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha  !"  Then  sud- 
denly his  look  hardened.  With  a  grunt  of  rage,  rope  in 
hand,  he  swooped  down  upon  her. 

"You  brute!    You  brute!" 

It  was  not  till  then  that  Johnnie  understood  what  Big 


REVOLT  299 

Tom  meant  to  do.  Crying  out  to  him,  "Oh,  y»  mustn't! 
Y'  mustn't!"  he  rushed  across  to  catch  at  the  rope,  and 
clung  to  it  with  all  his  might. 

Barber  caught  him  up,  and  once  more  he  threw  him — 
so  that  Johnnie  struck  a  wall,  and  lay  for  a  moment,  half 
stunned.  Meanwhile,  with  his  other  hand,  the  longshore- 
man thrust  Cis  down  into  her  chair.  Then  growling  as  he 
worked,  he  wound  her  in  the  rope  as  in  the  coils  of  a  ser- 
pent, and  bound  her,  body,  ankles,  and  arms,  to  the  kitchen 
table. 

Johnnie  came  crawling  back,  bruised,  but  scarcely  know- 
ing it ;  thinking  only  of  Cis,  of  saving  her  from  pain  and 
indignity.  "No,  Mister  Barber !"  he  pleaded.  "Not  Cis, 
Mister  Barber!  Please!  It's  all  my  fault!  I  fetched 
Mister  Perkins  here !  I  did !  So  blame  me !" 

Barber  straightened.  He  was  breathing  hard,  btt  there 
was  a  satisfied  shine  in  his  bloodshot  eyes.  "All  right, 
Mister  Johnnie,"  he  answered.  His  voice  was  almost  play- 
ful, but  still  he  did  not  look  at  the  boy.  "It's  y'r  fault,  is 
it?  Well,  I  guess  maybe  it  jus'  about  is !  So  y*  needn't  t* 
worry !  I'll  attend  t'  y' — no  mistake!" 


CHAPTER  XXX 

DISASTER 

BARBER  took  his  time.  He  even  prepared  to  have 
a  smoke  before  "attending"  to  Johnnie.  He  fum- 
bled through  his  coat  pockets  to  find  his  pipe, 
grinning  all  the  while  at  Cis. 

Being  bound  had  not  subdued  her.  She  looked  back  at 
him,  her  face  quivering,  her  cheeks  streaming  with  angry 
tears.  f''Oh,  yes,  he'll  go  after  you!"  she  sobbed.  "You 
needn't  be  afraid  he  won't!  He  likes  to  take  somebody 
that's  little  and  weak,  and  abuse  him,  just  as  he's  abused 
me,  because  I'm  a  girl!  You  don't  think,  Johnnie,  that 
he'd  ever  take  anybody  his  own  size !" 

"That'll  do !"  warned  Big  Tom.  He  had  found  the  pipe, 
and  now  came  a  step  nearer  to  her.  "Y'd  better  keep  y'r 
mouth  shut,  young  lady !" 

"Don't  talk,  Cis !  Don't !"  begged  Johnnie,  half  whis- 
pering. 

"I  will  talk!"  she  declared.  "All  the  years  I've  been 
here  I've  wanted  to  tell  him  what  I  think  of  him.  And  now 
I'm  going  to ! — I  am  a  young  lady.  You  great,  big  cow- 
ard !" 

He  struck  her  with  the  flat  of  one  heavy  hand.  But  as 
she  instantly  struggled,  and  frantically,  throwing  herself 
this  way  and  that,  and  almost  overturning  the  table  upon 
herself,  the  longshoreman  thought  better  of  continuing  the 
punishment,  and  crossed  to  the  sink  to  empty  his  pipe. 

Again  Cis  fell  to  sobbing,  and  talking  as  she  wept.  "I'm 

300 


DISASTER  301 

going  to  see  that  Father  Pat  knows  about  this,"  she  threat- 
ened. "And  everybody  in  the  whole  neighborhood,  too! 
They'll  drive  you  out  of  this  part  of  town — you  see  if 
they  don't!  And,  oh,  wait  till  One-Eye  knows,  and  Mr. 
Perkins!" 

It  was  just  then,  as  she  paused  for  breath,  that  some- 
thing happened  which  was  unexpected,  unforeseen,  and 
terrible  in  its  results.  The  longshoreman,  to  empty  his 
pipe,  rapped  once  on  that  pipe  leading  down  into  the  sink 
from  Mrs.  Kukor's  flat — then  twice  more — then  once 
again. 

It  was  the  book  signal ! 

Johnnie  gasped.  And  Cis  stopped  crying,  turning  on 
him  a  look  that  was  full  of  frightened  inquiry.  He  tipped 
back  his  head,  to  stare  at  the  ceiling  as  if  striving^ to  see 
through  it,  and  he  held  his  breath,  listening.  During  the 
quarrel,  he  had  not  thought  of  Mrs.  Kukor,  nor  heard  any 
sound  from  above.  Was  she  at  home?  Oh,  he  hoped  she 
was  not !  or  that  she  had  not  heard ! 

But  she  was  at  home,  and  was  preparing  to  obey  the 
raps.  Her  rocking  steps  could  be  heard,  crossing  the 
floor. 

"Johnnie !"  warned  Cis.  She  forgot  herself  now,  in  re- 
membering what  might  be  threatening. 

They  heard  the  scrape  of  the  book  basket  as  it  left  the 
upper  sill.  Johnnie  got  to  his  feet  then,  watching  Barber, 
who  was  leaning  over  the  sink,  cleaning  out  the  bowl  of  the 
pipe  with  the  half  of  a  match.  Oh,  if  only  the  longshore- 
man would  leave  the  window  now,  before — before — 

Almost  gayly,  and  as  jerkily  as  always,  the  basket  with' 
its  precious  load  came  dropping  by  quick  inches  into  full 
view,  where  it  swung  from  side  to  side,  waiting  to  be  drawn 
in.  And  as  it  swung,  Big  Tom  caught  the  movement  of 
it,  faced  round,  and  stood  staring,  seeing  the  books,  but 
not  comprehending  just  yet  how  they  came  to  be  outside 


302          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

his  window,  or  for  whom  they  were  intended.  And  John- 
nie, his  face  distorted  by  an  agony  of  anxiety,  kept  his 
eyes  on  Barber. 

"Ha-a-a-a !"  Cis  broke  in,  scornfully.  "He's  been  ask- 
ing old  Grandpa  questions,  Johnnie !  He's  been  spying  on 
you,  too !  He  ought  to  make  a  fine  detective !  All  he  does 
is  spy!" 

It  was  this  which  told  Barber  that  the  books  belonged 
in  his  flat,  and  to  Johnnie.  "So-o-o-o  !"  he  roared  triumph- 
antly, and  grabbed  the  four  strings.  But  now  his  anger 
was  toward  Mrs.  Kukor. 

His  jerk  at  the  basket  had  told  her  something:  that 
all  was  not  right  down  below.  And  the  next  moment  she 
was  pulling  hard  at  the  strings,  dire  amazement,  and 
alarm,  and  dismay  in  her  every  jerk. 

Big  Tom,  holding  firmly  to  the  basket,  leaned  out  to 
call.  "Hey,  there!"  he  said  angrily. 

"Vot?" 

"I  say,  what  y'  sendin*  books  down  here  for?" 

An  exclamation — in  that  strange  tongue  which  she 
spoke — smothered  and  indistinct,  but  fervent !  Then  more 
jerks. 

"Oh,  yes !"  called  out  Cis.  "Now  abuse  her !  Insult 
that  poor  little  thing !  She's  only  a  woman !" 

Barber  had  no  time  to  answer  this.  He  was  pulling  at 
the  strings,  too,  trying  to  break  them.  "Let  go  up  there !" 
he  shouted. 

"It  wass  my  basket !" 

With  a  curse,  "I  don't  care  whose  basket  it  is!  Let 
go!"  he  ordered,  and  gave  such  a  wrench  at  the  strings 
that  all  parted,  suddenly,  and  the  basket  was  his.  "Y* 
think  y're  pretty  smart,  don't  y'?"  he  demanded,  head  out 
of  the  window  again ;  "helpin*  this  kid  t'  neglect  his  work !" 

"I  pay  you  always,  Mister  Barber,"  she  answered,  "if 
so  he  makes  his  work  oder  not !" 


DISASTER  303 

"Yes,  and  he  knows  it,  Mrs.  Kukor!"  Cis  called  out. 

"Don't  you  ever  set  foot  in  this  here  flat  again!"  or- 
dered Big  Tom. 

"That's  right !"  retorted  Cis,  as  fearless  as  ever.  "Drive 
her  away ! — the  best  friend  we've  ever  had !" 

"You  been  hidin'  these  here  books  for  him!"  Barber 
went  on,  his  head  still  out  of  the  window,  so  that  much  of 
what  Cis  was  saying  was  lost  upon  him. 

"Ja!   Ja!   Ja!    Ja! 

"Don't  y'  yaw  me!" 

But  Mrs.  Kukor's  window  had  gone  down. 

Now  every  other  window  in  the  neighborhood  was  up, 
though  the  dwellers  round  about  were  hidden  from  sight. 
However,  they  launched  at  him  a  chorus  of  hisses. 

"A-a-a-a !"  triumphed  Cis.  "You  see  what  people  think 
of  you?  Good!  Good!  Why  don't  you  go  out  and  get 
hold  of  them?  why  don't  you  throw  them  around^ — Oh, 
you're  safe  in  here,  with  the  children!" 

Still  Barber  did  not  notice  her.  Leaning  farther  out 
across  the  window  sill,  he  shook  a  fist  into  space.  "Bah !" 
he  shouted.  "Ain't  one  o'  y'  dares  t'  show  y'r  face !  Jus' 
y'  let  me  see  who's  hissin',  and  I'll  give  y'  what  for !  Geese 
hiss,  and  snakes!  Come  and  do  y'r  hissin'  where  I  can 
look  at  y'!" 

More  hisses — and  cat  calls,  yowls,  meows,  and  a  spirited 
spitting;  raucous  laughter,  too,  and  a  mingling  of  voices 
in  several  tongues. 

"Wops!"  cried  Big  Tom  again.  "Wops,  and  Kikes, 
and  Micks !  Not  a  decent  American  in  the  whole  lot — you 
low-down  bunch  o'  foreigners !" 

Cis  laughed  again.  She  was  like  one  possessed.  It  was 
as  if  she  did  not  care  what  he  did  to  her,  nor  what  she  said 
to  him ;  as  if  she  were  taunting  him  and  daring  him — even 
encouraging  him — to  do  more.  "Decent  Americans !"  she 
repeated,  as  he  closed  the  window  and  came  toward  her, 


304.         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

the  books  in  his  hands.  "Do  you  think  you're  a  decent 
American  ?  But  they're  foreigners !  Ha !  And  you  call 
them  names !  But  they  don't  treat  children  the  way  you've 
always  treated  us !  You'd  better  call  yourself  names  for 
a  change !" 

"And  I  s'pose  that  dude  left  these !"  Barber  had  halted 
at  the  table.  Now  he  turned  to  Johnnie,  looking  directly 
at  him  for  the  first  time.  The  next  moment,  an  expression 
of  mingled  astonishment  and  rage  changed  and  shadowed 
his  dark  face,  as  he  glared  at  the  uniform,  the  leggings,  the 
brown  shoes.  Next,  "Where  did  y'  git  them?"  he  de- 
manded, almost  choking.  He  leveled  a  finger. 

Johnnie  swallowed,  shifting  from  foot  to  foot.  To  his 
lips  had  sprung  the  strangest  words,  "There's  people 
that're  givin'  these  suits  away — to  all  the  kids."  (The 
kind  of  an  explanation  that  he  would  have  made  promptly, 
and  as  boldly  as  possible,  in  the  days  before  he  knew 
Father  Pat  and  Mr.  Perkins.)  But  he  did  not  speak  the 
falsehood ;  he  even  wondered  how  it  had  come  into  his  mind ; 
and  he  asked  himself  what  Mr.  Roosevelt,  for  instance, 
would  think  of  him  if  he  were  to  tell  such  a  lie.  For  a 
scout  is  trustworthy. 

Once  more  Cis  broke  in,  her  voice  high  and  shrill.  "Oh, 
now  he's  got  something  else  to  worry  about!  A  second 
ago  he  was  mad  because  he  found  out  you  had  a  few 
books !  But  here  you've  got  a  decent  pair  of  shoes  to  your 
feet — for  once  in  your  life !  and  a  decent  suit  of  clothes  to 
your  back — so  that  you  look  like  a  human  being  instead 
of  the  rag  bag !  And  you've  got  the  first  hat  you've  had 
since  you  were  five  years  old !" 

The  hat  was  lying  on  the  floor — to  one  side,  where  it 
had  fallen  from  Johnnie's  head  when  Barber  had  thrown 
the  boy  off.  Now  the  latter  went  to  pick  it  up,  and  hold  it 
at  his  side.  Then,  standing  straight,  his  sober  eyes  on 
the  longshoreman,  he  waited. 


DISASTER  305 

"Where'd  y'  git  'em  ?"  questioned  Barber.  He  slammed 
the  books  on  the  table. 

The  big-girl  hands  worked  convulsively  with  the  hat  for 
a  moment.  Then,  "The  suit  was — was  give  t'  me,"  John- 
nie faltered. 

"Gi-i-ive?"  echoed  Big  Tom,  as  if  this  were  his  first 
knowledge  of  a  great  and  heinous  crime. 

"Think  of  it!"  shrilled  Cis.  "Johnnie's  got  a  friend 
that's  willing  to  spend  a  few  dollars  on  him !  Isn't  that  a 
shame !" 

Barber  did  not  look  at  her ;  did  not  seem  to  know  that 
she  was  talking.  "Who  give  it?"  he  persisted. 

"It — it  was  One-Eye,"  said  Johnnie. 

"Oh,  was  it!"  exclaimed  the  longshoreman.  His  tone 
implied  that  in  all  good  time  he  would  reckon  with  the 
Westerner.  9 

"Yes,  One-Eye !"  cried  Cis.  "So  you  can  take  your  tem- 
per out  on  him!  Only  you  better  look  out!  One-Eye's  a 
man — not  just  a  kid!  And  cowboys  carry  pistols,  too! 
So  you  better  think  twice  before  you  go  at  Twm!  You'll 
be  safer  to  stick  to  abusing  children! — Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! 
ha!" 

While  he  was  waiting  for  silence,  Barber  fell  to  examin- 
ing the  scout  uniform,  article  by  article — the  hat,  the  coat, 
the  trousers,  the  leggings,  the  shoes,  his  look  full  of  dis- 
gust, and  fairly  withering.  When  he  was  done,  he  sank 
leisurely  into  the  morris  chair,  a  big  hand  on  each  knee, 
and  the  flat  back  of  his  head  rested  against  the  old  soiled 
cushion.  And  now  he  concentrated  on  Johnnie's  counte- 
nance. "So  Mister  One-Eye  fitted  y'  out,"  he  resumed,  and 
his  mouth  lifted  at  one  corner,  showing  a  brown,  fanglike 
tooth  worn  by  his  pipe  stem. 

"Y — yes,  sir,"  replied  Johnnie. 

"Oh,  be  sure  to  sir  himP'  mocked  Cis.  "He  deserves 
politeness !" 


806         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Big  Tom  showed  all  of  his  teeth.  But  not  at  what  Cis 
had  been  saying ;  it  was  evident  that  some  new  and  pleasant 
thought  had  occurred  to  him.  He  nodded  his  head  over  it. 
"I  thought  maybe  it  was  that  dude  again,"  he  remarked 
cheerfully.  "But  it  was  One-Eye  fitted  y'  out!  Hm! 
And  when  I'm  off  at  work,  instead  o'  doin'  what  y'  ought 
t',  y'  fix  y'rself  up,  don't  y'? — soldier  boy  stuff!" 

"I — I  do  my  work  in  these,"  pleaded  Johnnie.  "I  do ! 
Honest !  See  how  nice  the  place  is !  I  don't  shirk  nothin' ! 
'Cause  y'  see,  a  scout,  he " 

Big  Tom  let  him  get  no  further.  "Take  them  rags  off !" 
he  commanded.  The  last  trace  of  that  smile  was  gone. 
The  bulging  eyes  looked  out  through  slits.  That  underlip 
was  thrust  forward  wrathfully. 

"Take  your  suit  off,  Johnnie,"  counseled  Cis.  "Don't 
you  se^  he  hates  to  have  you  look  nice  ?" 

"My — my  scout  suit!"  faltered  the  boy.  The  light  in 
those  peering,  bloodshot  eyes  told  him  that  the  longshore- 
man would  mistreat  that  beloved  uniform;  and  Johnnie 
wanted  to  gain  time.  Something,  or  some  one,  might  inter- 
rupt, and  thus  stave  off — what? 

Barber  straightened.  "Take — it — off,"  he  said  quietly, 
but  with  heat ;  and  added,  "Before  I  tear  it  off." 

Johnnie  proceeded  to  carry  out  the  order.  He  put  the 
beautiful  olive-drab  hat  on  the  table.  Next  he  unfastened 
the  neat,  webbed  belt,  and  unlaced  the  soldierly  leggings. 
The  emblemed  coat  came  off  carefully.  The  khaki  shirt 
followed.  Last  of  all,  having  slipped  his  feet  out  of  the 
wonderful  shoes,  he  pulled  off  the  trousers,  and  stood,  a 
pathetic  little  figure,  in  an  old  undershirt  of  Grandpa's, 
the  sleeves  of  which  he  had  shortened,  and  a  pair  of  Grand- 
pa's underdrawers,  similarly  cut — to  knee  length. 

Barber  stared  at  the  underclothes.  "Who  said  y'  could 
wear  my  old  man's  things?"  he  asked. 

"N— nobody." 


DISASTER  307 

"They're  too  small  for  Grandpa,"  declared  Cis,  stoutly. 
"Johnnie  might  as  well  wear  them.  If  he  didn't,  I'd  throw 
them  away,  or  use  them  for  dishcloths." 

Barber  did  not  notice  the  girl.  "Nobody,"  he  repeated. 
"But  y'  go  ahead  and  use  the  scissors  on  'em!" 

"Your  shirts  're  so  big,"  reminded  Johnnie;  "and  the 
pants,  too.  And  if  I  didn't  wear  nothin',  why,  I'd  dirty 
the  new  uniform,  wearin'  it  next  my  skin,  and  so——" 

"Fold  that  truck  up !"  came  the  next  command. 

Under  Grandpa's  old,  torn  undershirt,  Johnnie's  heart 
began  to  beat  so  hard  that  he  could  hear  it.  But  quietly 
and  dutifully  he  folded  each  dear  article,  and  placed  all, 
one  upon  another,  neatly,  the  hat  topping  the  pile.  Fin- 
ished, he  stood  waiting,  and  his  whole  body  trembled  with 
a  chill  that  was  not  from  cold  or  fear,  but  from  apprehen- 
sion. Oh,  what  was  about  to  happen  to  his  treasurtyl  uni- 
form? 

Cis  was  silent  now,  refraining  from  angering  Big  Tom 
at  a  time  when  it  was  possible  for  him  to  vent  his  rage  on 
Johnnie's  belongings.  But  she  watched  him  breathlessly  as 
he  rose  and  went  to  the  table,  and  reached  to  take  the 
books. 

"So  y'  keep  'em  upstairs?"  he  said  to  Johnnie. 

"Yes,  sir," — it  was  a  whisper. 

"She's  accommodatin',  ain't  she,  the  old  lady?" 

"She— she— yes." 

"A-a-ah!"  The  longshoreman  placed  the  books  atop 
the  olive-drab  hat,  crushing  it  flat  with  their  weight. 

"Oh!  Oh,  don't  hurt  'em!"  pleaded  Johnnie.  He  put 
out  a  hand. 

"Oh,  I  won't  hurt  'em,"  answered  Big  Tom.  But  his 
tone  was  far  from  reassuring. 

"I  won't  ever  read  'em  'cept  nights,"  promised  the  boy. 
"Honest,  Mister  Barber !  And  y'  know  y'  like  me  t'  read 
good.  When — when  Mister  Maloney  was  here,  why,  y' 


308          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

liked  it.  And  y'  can  lock  'em  all  away  in  the  bedroom  if 
y'  don't  b'lieve  me !" 

Big  Tom  leered  down  at  him.  "Oh,  I'll  lock  'em  up,  all 
right,"  he  said.  "I'll  do  it  up  so  brown  that  there  won't 
be  no  more  danger  o'  this  scout  business  'round  the  place, 
and  no  more  readin'."  With  that,  he  took  up  both  the 
books  and  the  suit  and  turned. 

At  the  same  moment  Cis  and  Johnnie  understood  what 
was  impending — the  same  terrible  moment ;  and  they  cried 
out  together,  the  one  in  renewed  anger,  the  other  in  mor- 
tal pain: 

"NO!" 

For  Barber  had  turned — to  the  stove. 

Johnnie  rushed  to  the  longshoreman  and  again  clung  to 
him,  weeping,  pleading,  promising,  asking  to  be  whipped 
— oh,  cany  thing  but  that  his  treasures  be  destroyed.  And 
at  the  table,  Cis  wept,  too,  and  threatened,  calling  for  help, 
striving  to  divert  Big  Tom  from  his  purpose,  trying  to 
lash  him  into  a  rage  against  herself. 

"Oh,  Mister  Barber,  y'  wouldn't!"  Johnnie  cried. 
"They're  ev'rything  I  got  in  the  world !  And  I  love  'em  so ! 
Oh,  I'll  stay  forever  with  y'  if  y'  won't  hurt  'em!  I'll 
work  so  hard,  and  be  so  good !" 

Barber  uncovered  the  fire — that  fire  which  Johnnie  had 
built  for  the  baking  of  Big  Tom's  pudding. 

"The  medal!"  Cis  shouted,  straining  at  the  rope  which 
bound  her.  "Don't  let  him  burn  that !  Johnnie !  John- 
nie !" 

Johnnie  caught  at  the  coat.  "In  a  pocket!"  he  ex- 
plained. "My  father's!  Look  for  it!  Let  me!" 

"A — what?"  inquired  Big  Tom,  lifting  books  and  uni- 
form out  of  the  boy's  reach.  "What're  y'  talkin'  about?" 

"Don't  you  dare  burn  it!"  Cis  stormed.  "They'll  ar- 
rest you !  See  if  they  don't !  You  give  it  to  Johnnie !  If 
you  don't,  I'll  tell  the  police !  I  will !  I  will!" 


DISASTER  309 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !"  laughed  Barber.  Holding  every- 
thing under  one  arm,  he  took  off  a  second  stove  lid,  as  well 
as  the  hour-glass-shaped  support  between  the  two  front 
lids.  The  whole  of  the  firebox  was  uncovered.  It  was  a 
mass  of  coals.  As  the  longshoreman  hung  over  the  fire, 
his  dark  face  was  lit  by  it.  And  now  lifted  in  a  horrid 
smile! 

Cis's  voice  rose  again.  Nothing  could  save  Johnnie's 
books  and  suit :  there  was  no  need  to  keep  silent.  "He's  a 
devil!"  she  cried.  "He  isn't  a  man  at  all!  Look!  He's 
enjoying  himself !  He's  grinning !  Oh,  Johnnie,  look  at  his 
face!" 

Johnnie  fell  back.  And  into  his  own  face,  twisted  and 
wet  with  grief,  there  came  an  expression  of  a  terrible  won- 
der— the  wonder  that  Big  Tom,  or  any  one,  could  be  so 
cruel,  so  heartless,  so  contemptible.  And  there  (Ashed 
into  his  mind  something  he  had  once  heard  Father  Pat 
say :  "There's  not  so  many  grown-up  people  in  the  world ; 
there's  plenty  of  grown-up  bodies,  but  the  minds  at  the 
top  o'  them,  they're  children's  minds !"  And,  oh,  how  true 
it  was!  For  Barber  was  like  that — had  a  mind  younger 
than  Johnnie's  own — the  boy  knew  it  then.  Further,  it 
was  as  mean  and  cruel  and  little  as  the  minds  of  those 
urchins  who  shouted  "old  clothes,"  and  "girl's  hair."  Yes, 
Barber  had  a  man's  body,  but  the  brain  of  an  ignorant, 
wicked  boy ! 

"Look  at  my  face  all  y'  want  t'!"  he  was  saying  now. 
"But  there's  one  thing  sure:  after  this  we'll  know  who's 
boss  'round  here !" 

"This  is  the  only  place  you  can  boss!"  retorted  Cis, 
turning  wild,  defiant  eyes  upon  him.  "A  crippled  old  man, 
and  a  couple  of  young  folks !  But  you  bet  you  mind  Fur- 
man!" 

"A-a-a-a-a-ah!" 

The  cry  was  wrung  from  Johnnie.     For  with  another 


310          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

loud  laugh,  Big  Tom  had  dropped  the  scout  hat  upon  the 
flames. 

"Coward !"  charged  the  girl,  again  writhing  in  her  ropes. 
"Low,  mean  coward!" 

It  was  beyond  Johnnie's  strength  to  watch  what  was 
happening.  He  threw  up  an  arm  to  shut  out  the  sight  of 
Big  Tom,  and  faced  the  other  way.  "Oh,  don't!"  he 
moaned  weakly.  "Oh,  don't!  Don't!"  A  strange,  un- 
pleasant odor  was  filling  the  room.  He  guessed  that  was 
the  hat.  Smoke  came  wafting  his  way  next — a  whole  cloud 
of  it — and  drifted  ceilingward.  "Oh,  Cis !  Cis  !"  he  moaned 
again. 

Some  one  was  in  the  hall — Mrs.  Kukor,  for  the  steps 
rocked.  "Chonnie?"  she  called  now.  "Chonnie!  Talk 
sometink !" 

It  ^ras  Big  Tom  who  talked.  "Oh,  you  go  home,  y'  busy- 
body!" he  answered. 

"Mrs.  Kukor !  Mrs.  Kukor !  He's  burning  everything 
of  Johnnie's !"  shouted  Cis. 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !"  burst  out  Barber,  as  if  this  had 
delighted  him.  Into  the  fire  he  thrust  the  khaki  breeches 
and  the  coat,  poking  them  down  upon  the  coals  with  a 
hand  which  was  too  horny  to  be  scorched  by  the  fire. 

"The  medal!"  mourned  the  girl.  "Oh,  I  hope  they'll 
punish  you  for  that!  And  there's  something  you  don't 
know,  but  it's  the  truth,  and  it'll  mean  a  lot  that  you 
won't  like!" 

" Ye-e-e-eah  ?"  Barber  was  waiting  for  the  breeches  and 
coat  to  burn. 

"Yes !  Johnnie's  rich !  He's  got  money !  Lots  of  it ! 
You'll  see !  You  won't  have  so  much  to  say  to-morrow !" 

Big  Tom  laughed.  "T'morrow,"  he  said  good-humor- 
edly,  "I'm  goin'  t'  have  y'r  brain  examined."  The  room 
was  half  full  of  smoke  now ;  he  fell  to  coughing,  and  went 
over  to  pull  down  the  upper  half  of  the  window.  When 


DISASTER  311 

he    came   back   he   thrust   the   leggings    into    the    stove. 

Peering  round  through  the  smoke,  Johnnie  saw  that. 
"Oh !"  he  whispered.  "Oh !"  He  went  forward  a  few  steps, 
weakly;  then  all  his  strength  seemed  suddenly  to  go  out 
of  him,  and  he  dropped  to  his  knees  beside  a  wall,  brush- 
ing it  with  his  hands  as  he  went  down.  There  he  stayed, 
his  forehead  pressed  against  his  knuckles. 

Once  more  Cis  began  to  weep,  in  pity  for  his  suffering. 
"Oh,  don't  you  feel  so  bad!"  she  pleaded.  "Just  try  to 
remember  that  we're  going  away,  Johnnie !  Mr.  PerkSns'll 
take  us  both,  and  Big  Tom'll  never  see  us  again !  And  I 
love  you,  Johnnie,  and  so  does  Mrs.  Kukor,  and  Father 
Pat,  and  One-Eye,  and  Mr.  Perkins!" 

"I  know !"  groaned  the  boy.    "I— I'll  try  t'  think." 

"Mister  Perkins !"  scoffed  the  longshoreman.  "Who 
cares  about  that  tony  guy?  If  he  ever  pokes  hi  •  head 
into  this  flat  again,  I'll  stick  him  into  the  stove!"  The 
shirt  followed  the  leggings,  after  which,  with  a  dull  clank- 
ing of  the  stove  lids,  he  covered  the  firebox. 

"But  my  jacket's  burnin',"  Johnnie  sobbed.  "My  nice 
jacket !  And  the  medal !  Oh,  the  beautiful  medal !" 

"He'll  pay  for  it !"  vowed  Cis.  "You'll  see !  I  know  one 
person  that'll  make  him  pay ! — for  hitting  me,  and  tying 
me  up,  and  burning  your  things !  Just  you  wait,  Johnnie ! 
It'll  all  come  out  right!  This  isn't  over  yet!  No,  it 
isn't!" 

Barber  was  laughing  again.  The  top  of  the  stove  was 
a  reddening  black.  Upon  it  now  he  threw  all  the  books ; 
whereupon  little  threads  of  smoke  began  to  ascend — white 
smoke,  piercing  the  darker  smoke  of  the  burning  hat  and 
uniform. 

As  the  books  struck  the  stove,  Johnnie  had  once  more 
turned  his  head  to  look,  and,  "Oh,  my  Robinson  Crusoe!" 
he  burst  out  now.  "Oh,  Aladdin!  And  dear  Galahad!" 


312          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

This  was  more  than  the  destruction  of  stories:  this  was 
the  perishing  of  friends. 

"Never  mind,  dear  Johnnie !  Never  mind !"  The  voice 
of  the  comforter  was  strong  and  clear. 

Once  more  a  stove  lid  rattled.  Big  Tom  was  putting 
the  first  book  upon  the  fire.  It  was  the  beloved  Last  of 
the  Mohicans.  Johnnie's  tearful  eyes  knew  it  by  the  brown 
binding.  He  groaned.  "Oh,  it's  Uncas!"  he  told  Cis. 
"Oh,  my  story !  I'll  never  read  y'  again !" 

"He'll  wish  a  hundred  times  he'd  never  done  it!"  de- 
clared Cis.  "It'll  cost  him  something,  I  can  tell  you ! 
He'll  pay  for  them  all,  over  and  over !" 

"Is  that  so?"  Barber  was  amused.  Now  he  threw  the 
other  books  after  the  first.  After  that,  he  lounged  to  and 
fro,  waiting  till  it  was  certain  that  even  no  part  of  the 
volumes  would  fail  to  be  consumed.  As  he  sauntered,  he 
found  his  sack  of  smoking  tobacco  and  refilled  that  pipe 
which  had  been  the  innocent  cause  of  all  Johnnie's  misfor- 
tune. 

With  Big  Tom  away  from  the  stove,  the  boy  rose  and 
crossed  the  room.  They  were  turning  into  ashes,  all  his 
books  and  the  other  things,  and  he  wanted  one  last  look 
at  them  before  they  were  wholly  gone.  He  picked  up  the 
poker,  lifted  a  lid,  and  gazed  down. 

"Don't  yj  touch  anythin'!"  warned  the  longshoreman, 
fussing  with  the  matches  as  he  strolled. 

"I  won't."  Layers  of  curling  black  leaves  were  lying 
uppermost  in  the  stove.  And  they  were  moving,  as  if  they 
were  living  and  suffering  things.  On  some  of  the  leaves 
Johnnie  could  see  lettering.  But  as,  at  the  sight,  his  tears 
burst  forth  again,  the  force  of  his  breath  upon  those  blis- 
tered pages  broke  them,  and  they  crumbled. 

He  covered  the  stove  and  stumbled  away.  An  odd 
thought  was  in  his  tortured  brain:  What  Scout  Law  of 
the  Twelve  covered  the  burning  of  a  uniform  ?  of  the  books 


DISASTER  313 

that  all  scouts  should  love?  "Trustworthy,"  he  repeated 
aloud;  "loyal,  helpful,  friendly,  courteous,  kind,  obe- 
dient  " 

"Oh,  shut  up!"  ordered  Barber. 

"Yes,  shut  up,  Johnnie,"  advised  Cis.  "Because  those 
are  all  things  this  man  doesn't  know  about — he's  never 
heard,  even,  of  anybody's  being  kind,  or  friendly."  Then 
as  there  came  from  the  stove  a  sudden  snapping  and  blow- 
ing, she  turned  her  face  toward  the  longshoreman,  and  it 
was  strangely  unlike  her  face,  so  changed  was  it  by  hate. 
"Oh,  you  vile,  vile  thing!"  she  cried. 

"Now  I  guess  that'll  about  do,"  said  Barber.  "Under- 
stand me.  I've  heard  enough." 

"Nothing'll  do,"  she  returned  firmly.  "You  won't  ever 
stop  my  talking  again!  I  sha'n't  ever  obey  you  again — 
no,  about  anything !  And  there  are  some  things  I'm'going 
to  tell  about  you.  You  think  I  don't  know  them — or  that 
I've  forgot.  But  my  mother  told  me  what  she  knew  about 
you,  and  I  remember  it  all.  And  to-morrow  I'm  going  to 
hunt  a  policeman,  and " 

In  one  long  step  he  was  beside  her.  "You — you — you!" 
he  raged,  choking.  His  face  was  blue,  and  working  hor- 
ribly, and  there  was  fear  in  the  bulging  eyes.  "What're  y' 
talkin'  about?  Have  y' gone  clean  crazy?"  With  a  half- 
bend,  he  caught  up  a  length  of  the  clothesline  from  the 
floor  and  doubled  it.  "You  open  your  mouth  to  anybody," 
he  told  her,  fiercely,  "and  I'll  break  ev'ry  bone  in  y'r 
body!" 

"Cis !"  Johnnie  rushed  to  her,  clung  to  her  bound  arms, 
and  warned  her  to  silence. 

But  she  would  not  be  still.  She  was  triumphant,  seeing 
how  afraid  he  was  of  her  threat.  She  straightened,  mov- 
ing the  table  as  she  moved,  and  broke  into  a  shout  of  de- 
fiance. "Break  my  bones!"  she  challenged.  "Kill  me,  if 
you  want  to!  But  I'm  going  to  tell— tell — TELLt" 


314          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"I  will  kill  y' !"  he  vowed,  and  doubled  the  rope  into  a 
short,  four-ply  whip. 

Johnnie  forgot  everything  then  but  Cis's  danger.  Once 
more  he  came  to  put  himself,  thinly  clad  though  he  was 
now,  between  her  and  Big  Tom.  "Oh,  don't  y'  see  she's 
half  crazy?"  he  cried  to  the  latter.  "She  don't  know  what 
she's  sayin'!  Oh,  Mister  Barber!  Mister  Barber!" 

"They'll  arrest  him !  They'll  send  him  to  jail !  To  the 
chair!"  Cis  was  shouting,  almost  joyously,  remembering 
only  that  now  she  was  torturing  their  tormentor.  "But  I'll 
tell!  I'll  tell!" 

Barber  did  not  answer  her.  "Git  out  o'  my  way!"  he 
growled  to  Johnnie.  "  'R  I'll  lick  you,  too !" 

Facing  Barber,  Johnnie  leaned  back  against  Cis,  half 
covering  her  body  with  his  own.  "Lick  me,"  he  begged. 
"Oh,  tut  don't  touch  her !" 

Barber  bared  his  teeth,  turning  a  look  of  hate  upon  the 
boy.  "You !"  he  cried,  and  cursed.  "I'll  lick  y',  all  right ! 
I'll  lick  y'  so's  it'll  be  a  week  before  y'  leave  y'r  bed!" 
Taking  a  firmer  hold  of  the  looped  strands,  he  swung  them 
above  his  head ;  then  with  a  deep  breath,  and  with  all  the 
power  of  his  right  arm,  brought  them  down. 

A  shriek — from  Cis. 

But  Barber  had  not  struck  her.  The  blow  had  reached 
only  the  upraised  face  and  breast  of  the  boy,  driving  him 
against  Cis  with  terrible  force.  Even  in  his  agony  Johnnie 
knew  that,  as  he  was  pressing  against  her,  she  might  be  in- 
advertently struck  as  Big  Tom  struck  at  him ;  so,  stagger- 
ing sidewise,  his  arms  held,  crossed,  above  his  head  to  keep 
the  rope  from  his  eyes,  he  got  away  from  the  table  and  the 
bound  girl.  But  as  he  went  he  continued  to  clutch  with 
all  of  his  fingers  at  the  rope  which  was  now  descending  with 
awful  regularity. 

Shrieking,  Cis  covered  her  eyes  by  laying  her  head  upon 
the  table ;  and  now  she  tried  to  cover  one  ear,  then  the 


DISASTER  315 

other,  to  shut  out  the  sound  of  the  blows.  And  to  her 
screams  was  added  the  voice  of  old  Grandpa,  whimpering 
in  the  bedroom,  while  he  beat  feebly  at  the  door. 

Johnnie,  however,  made  no  sound.  Each  stinging  blow 
of  the  rope  whip  knocked  the  breath  out  of  him,  sending 
him  farther  and  farther  away  from  the  table.  Sometimes 
he  reeled,  sometimes  he  spun,  so  that  as  Barber  drove  him 
with  lash  after  lash,  he  went  as  if  performing  a  sort  of 
grotesque  dance.  And  all  the  while  his  face  was  purpling 
in  two  long  stripes  where  had  fallen  that  first  cruel 
scourge. 

With  each  swing  of  the  strands  Barber  gasped  out  a 
word:  "There! — Now! — Take! — Lazy! — Sneak!"  Sweat 
dripped  from  among  the  hairs  on  his  face.  That  white 
spot  came  and  went  in  his  left  eye  like  an  evil  light. 

Some  one  fell  to  pounding  upon  the  hall  door,  am^some 
one  else  upon  a  dividing  wall.  Then,  with  a  crash,  a  bottle 
came  hurtling  through  a  pane  of  the  window. 

But  Big  Tom  was  himself  half  crazed  by  now,  and 
seemed  not  to  hear.  "I'll  learn  y' !"  he  shouted,  and  rained 
blow  after  blow — till  the  small  figure,  those  old  under- 
garments almost  in  rags  as  the  rope  strands  cut  into  his 
back,  could  stand  up  to  no  more  punishment.  Of  a  sud- 
den, with  an  anguished  sigh,  the  boy  half  pivoted,  and  a 
score  of  red  bands  showing  angrily  upon  his  bare,  thin 
arms,  gave  a  lurch,  bent  double,  and  went  down,  his  limp 
body  in  a  half  circle,  so  that  his  yellow  head  touched  his 
knees. 

A  hoarse  shriek  of  terror  and  grief  from  Cis ;  she  tried 
to  rise,  and  dragged  the  table  part  way  across  the  kitchen, 
her  chair  with  it,  striving  to  get  to  Johnnie.  "Oh,  you've 
killed  him !"  she  cried.  "You've  killed  him !" 

Outside  in  the  hall,  the  stairs  creaked  to  the  steps  of 
several.  Voices  called.  Doors  opened  and  shut.  Win- 


316          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

dows  went  up  and  down.  From  top  to  bottom  the  old 
building  was  astir. 

Big  Tom  strode  to  the  door  and  listened.  Gradually, 
as  quiet  prevailed  in  the  Barber  flat,  the  other  flats  fell 
into  silence,  while  the  watchers  in  the  hall  stole  away. 
Presently  the  longshoreman  gave  a  chuckle.  Nobody 
cared  to  interfere  with  him.  He  came  sauntering  back  to 
Johnnie. 

The  boy  was  lying  prone  now,  his  eyes  shut,  his  breast 
heaving.  As  Big  Tom  stood  over  him,  his  whole  little  rag- 
ged figure  shivered,  and  he  sucked  in  his  breath  through 
his  clenched  teeth. 

"Ha-a-a!"  laughed  Barber.  "So  y'  will  stick  in  y'r 
nose!  Well,  I'll  learn  y'!"  Catching  Johnnie  up  in  one 
big  hand,  he  carried  him  to  the  table  and  laid  him  over 
its  ed|*e,  arms  outstretched,  the  yellow  head  between  them, 
and  the  thin  legs  hanging  down  toward  the  floor.  Then 
taking  up  that  length  of  rope  with  which  he  had  beaten 
the  boy,  he  tied  the  spent  body  beside  that  of  the  well-nigh 
fainting  girl. 

"Now  there  the  two  o*  y'll  stay  till  mornin',"  he  an- 
nounced when  he  was  done.  "Then  maybe  y'  won't  be  so 
fresh  about  runnin'  this  place." 

The  sun  was  now  below  the  tops  of  the  houses  to  the 
west,  and  the  kitchen  was  beginning  to  darken.  Big  Tom 
got  down  the  lamp,  lighted  it,  and  carried  it  to  the  bed- 
room. "All  right,  Pa,"  he  said  cheerfully,  "I'm  comin'  t' 
put  y' t' bed  now.  Y' want  y'r  milk  first,  don't  y'?  Well, 
Tommie'll  git  it  for  y V  He  returned  to  the  cupboard  for 
the  milk  bottle,  gave  a  smiling  look  at  the  two  heads 
leaned  on  the  table,  and  disappeared  to  bed. 

Presently  some  one  tapped  timidly  on  the  hall  door ;  but 
as  there  was  no  reply,  the  caller  went  softly  away.  A  bit 
later,  a  gruff  voice  was  heard  on  the  landing,  speaking  in- 
quiringly, and  there  were  whispered  answers.  But  the 


DISASTER  317 

gruff  voice  died  away  on  the  stairs,  along  with  heavy  foot- 
steps. Then  only  the  distant  rumble  of  the  Elevated  Rail- 
road could  be  heard  occasionally,  or  the  far,  seaward  whis- 
tle of  some  steamer,  or  the  scrape  and  screak  of  a  street- 
car. 

And  so  night  settled  upon  the  flat. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 
THE  VISION 

AS   life   came  back   into  his   body,   Johnnie's   first 
thought  was  a  grateful  one :  how  cool  to  his  cheek 
was  the  old,  crackled  oilcloth  on  the  table  if  he 
rested  that  cheek  a  moment,  now  here,  now  there!     His 
second  thought,  too,  was  one  of  thankfulness:  How  good 
it  was  to  be  lying  there  so  quietly  after  those  rending 
blow£>which  had  driven  the  breath  out  of  his  lungs ! 

He  would  have  liked  to  tug  at  his  hair ;  but  as  his  hands 
were  tied  fast  together,  and  held  a  little  way  beyond  where 
lay  his  head,  being  secured  almost  immovably  by  a  length 
of  clothesline  which  came  up  to  them  from  around  a  farther 
leg  of  the  table,  he  could  not  comfort  himself  with  his  old, 
odd  habit. 

Presently,  "Cis !"  he  whispered.    "Cis !" 

A  moan,  feeble  and  pitiful,  like  the  complaint  of  a  hurt 
baby. 

It  was  pitch  dark  in  the  kitchen,  and  though  he  turned 
his  look  her  way,  he  could  not  see  her.  Yet  all  at  once 
he  knew  that  this  was  not  the  wild,  fighting,  bold  Cis,  with 
the  strange,  changed  face,  who  had  stormed  at  the  long- 
shoreman ;  this  was  again  the  Cis  he  knew,  gentle,  wistful, 
leaning  on  him,  wanting  his  affection  and  sympathy.  "Aw, 
Cis !"  he  murmured  fondly. 

"Oh,  Johnnie,  I  want  a  drink !    I'm  thirsty !" 

He  pulled  at  his  hands.  But  Big  Tom  had  done  his  ty- 
ing well,  and  Johnnie  could  not  even  loosen  one  of  them. 

318 


THE  VISION  319 

"I  wish  I  could  bring1  you  some  water,"  he  answered.  "But 
my  legs  're  roped  down  on  this  side,  and  he's  got  my  hands 
'way  over  my  head  on  the  other,  so  the  most  I  could  do 
would  be  t'  fall  sideways  off  the  table,  and  that  wouldn't 
help  y'  one  bit." 

"Oh !"  she  mourned.     "Oh !" 

"Can't  you  git  loose?"  he  asked. 

"No !    I'm  tied  just  as  tight!" 

Then  for  a  little  they  were  quiet,  while  Johnnie  tried  to 
study  out  a  way  of  helping  her.  But  he  failed.  And  soon 
she  began  to  fret,  and  move  impatiently,  now  sobbing 
softly,  as  if  to  herself,  again  only  sighing. 

He  strove  to  soothe  her.  "It  won't  be  long  till  mornin'," 
he  declared.  "If  y'  could  make  b'lieve  y*  was  in  bed,  and 
count  sheep " 

"But  the  ropes  hurt  me !"  she  complained.  "I  w00t  them 
off !  They  hurt  me  awfully,  and  I  feel  sick !" 

"Well,"  he  proposed,  "let's  pretend  y're  so  sick  y'  need 
a  nurse,  and " 

But  she  would  not  wait  for  the  rest  of  his  plan.  "Oh, 
that  kind  of  thinking  won't  help  me !"  she  protested.  "And 
I  don't  want  anybody  but  my  mother!"  Then  sobbing 
aloud,  "Oh,  I  want  my  mother !  I  want  my  mother !" 

The  cry  smote  his  heart,  bringing  the  tears  that  had 
not  come  when  Barber  was  beating  him.  Never  before,  in 
all  the  years  he  had  known  her,  had  she  cried  out  this 
longing.  Saying  scarcely  anything  of  that  mother  who 
was  gone,  leaving  her  so  lonely,  so  bereft,  always  she  her- 
self had  been  the  little  mother  of  the  flat. 

"Course  y'  do !"  he  whispered,  gulping.    "Course  y'  do !" 

"If  she'd  only  come  back  to  me  now !"  she  went  on.  "And 
put  her  arms  around  me  again !" 

"Don't,  Cis !"  he  pleaded  tenderly.     "Oh,  please  don't 
Ain't  y'  got  me?     That's  pretty  nice,  ain't  it?     'Cause 


320          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

we're  t'gether.  Here  I  am,  Cis !  Right  in  reach,  almost. 
Close  by!  Don't  cry!" 

But  she  was  not  listening.  "Oh,  Mother,  why  did  you 
go  and  leave  me  ?"  she  wept.  "Oh,  Mother,  I  want  you  so 
much!" 

Johnnie  began  to  argue  with  her,  gently:  "But,  Cis, 
think  how  Mister  Perkins  likes  y'!  My!  And  he  wants 
t'  marry  y'!  And  y'll  have  such  a  nice  place  t'  live  in. 
Oh,  things'll  be  fine!" 

That  helped  a  little;  but  soon,  "I  want  to  lie  down!" 
she  complained.  "Oh,  Johnnie,  it  hurts  to  sit  like  this  all 
the  time !  Can't  you  reach  me  ?  Oh,  try  to  untie  me !" 

"Cis,  I  can't,"  he  protested,  once  more.  "But  it'll  be 
mornin'  before  y'  know  it!  W'y,  it's  awful  late  in  the 
night  right  now!  I  betcher  it's  twelve — almost.  So  let's 
play  a^jame,  and  the  time'll  pass  so  quick!" 

"I  can't  wait  till  morning  for  a  drink !"  she  cried.  "I'm 
so  thirsty !  And  I  want  to  lie  down !" 

"Now,"  he  started  off  cheerily,  " — now,  we'll  play  the 
way  we  used  t'  before  y'  got  grown-up.  Remember  all  the 
nice  things  we  used  t'  do?  Callin'  on  the  Queen,  and 
dancin'  parties,  and " 

"My  back  hurts!    Awful!" 

"Let's  try  t'  think  jus'  o'  all  our  nice  friends,"  he  coaxed. 
"Mister  Perkins,  and  One-Eye,  and  Mrs.  Kukor,  and " 

"Let's  call  to  Mrs.  Kukor !"  she  pleaded.  "Let's  try  to 
make  her  hear!" 

"He'll  whip  us  again  if  we  do !"  Johnnie  cautioned. 
"And,  Cis,  I  don't  think  I  could  stand  any  more  whippin'. 
Oh,  don't  holler,  Cis.  Let's  rest — jus'  rest !"  A  weakness 
came  over  him  suddenly,  and  he  could  not  go  on. 

But  she  was  sobbing  again.  "I'm  thirsty!"  she  la- 
mented. "I'm  thirsty!  I'm  thirsty!  I'm  thirsty!" 

Presently  he  roused  himself,  and  remembered  his  faith- 
ful Buckle.  He  summoned  the  latter  now,  speaking  to  him 


THE   VISION  321 

in  that  throaty,  important  voice  which  he  used  when  is- 
suing commands.  "Mister  Buckle,"  he  said,  "bring  the 
young  lady  a  lemon  soda  jus'  chock-full  o'  ice." 

"No !  No !"  Cis  broke  in  petulantly.  "Oh,  that  makes 
it  all  the  harder  to  bear! — Oh,  where's  Mrs.  Kukor?  She 
knows  something's  wrong!  Why  hasn't  she  helped  us?" 
She  fell  to  weeping  irritably. 

At  his  wits'  end,  Johnnie  racked  his  brain  for  something 
to  tell  her — something  which  might  take  her  thoughts  from 
her  misery.  But  his  own  misery  was  now  great,  for  the 
clothesline  was  cutting  into  his  wrists  and  ankles;  while 
across  the  front  of  his  body,  the  edge  of  the  table  was 
pressing  into  him  like  the  blade  of  a  dull  knife.  "But  I'll 
stand  it,"  he  promised  himself.  "And  I'll  try  t*  be  cheer- 
ful, like  the  Handbook  says." 

However,  there  was  no  immediate  need  for  his  cheerful- 
ness, for  Cis  had  quieted.  A  few  moments,  and  he  heard 
her  deep  breathing.  He  smiled  through  the  dark  at  her, 
happy  to  think  that  sleep  had  come  to  help  her  over  the 
long  night  hours.  As  for  himself,  he  could  not  sleep,  weak 
as  he  was.  His  heart  was  sore  because  of  what  he  had 
lost — his  new,  wonderful  uniform,  and  all  his  dear,  dear 
books.  What  were  all  these  now?  Just  a  bit  of  gray  dust 
in  the  cooling  stove !  Gone !  Gone  forever ! 

Ah,  but  were  they !  The  suit  was.  Yes,  he  would  not  be 
able  ever  again  to  wear  that — not  actually.  But  the 
boots — ?  They  were  also  destroyed,  as  completely  as  the 
khaki  uniform.  And  yet — had  Big  Tom  really  done  to 
them  what  he  wanted  to  do?  Had  he  wiped  them  out? 

No! 

And  as  Johnnie  answered  himself  thus,  he  realized  the 
truth  of  a  certain  statement  which  Father  Pat  had  once 
made  to  him :  "The  only  possessions  in  this  world  that  can't 
be  taken  away  from  ye,  lad  dear,  're  the  thoughts,  thq 
ideas,  the  knowledge  that  ye've  got  in  yer  brain."  And 


322         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

along  with  his  sudden  understanding  of  this  there  came  a 
sense  of  joyous  wonder,  and  a  feeling  of  utter  triumph. 
His  precious  volumes  were  burned.  True  enough.  Their 
covers,  their  pictures,  their  good-smelling  leaves,  these  were 
ashes.  But — what  was  in  each  book  had  not  been  wiped 
out!  No !  The  longshoreman  had  not  been  able  to  rob 
Johnnie  of  the  thoughts,  the  ideas,  the  knowledge  which 
had  been  tied  into  those  books  with  the  printed  letter ! 

"I  got  'em  yet,  all  the  stories !"  he  cried  to  himself. 
"The  'stronomy,  too!  And  the  things  in  the  Handbook! 
They're  all  in  my  brain !" 

And  the  people  of  his  books !  They  were  not  destroyed 
at  all!  Fire  had  not  wiped  them  out !  They  were  just  as 
alive  as  ever!  As  he  lay,  stretched  over  the  table  edge, 
they  took  shape  for  him ;  and  out  of  the  black  corners  of 
the  rotrn,  from  behind  the  cupboard,  the  stove,  and  the 
chairs,  they  came  trooping  to  him — Aladdin,  the  Sultan, 
the  Princess  Buddir  al  Buddoor,  Jim  Hawkins,  Uncas, 
King  Arthur,  Long  John  Silver,  Robinson  Crusoe,  Lin- 
coln, Heywood,  Elaine,  Galahad,  Friday,  Alice,  Sir  Kay! 
"Oh!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  whisper.  "Oh,  gee,  all  my 
friends !"  Oh,  yes,  the  people  in  stories  did  live  on  and  on, 
just  as  Father  Pat  had  said;  were  immortal  because  they 
lived  in  the  minds  of  all  who  loved  them! 

His  eyes  were  shut.  But  he  smiled  at  the  group  about 
him.  "He  didn't  hurt  y' !"  he  said  happily — but  whisper- 
ing as  before,  lest  he  disturb  Cis.  "Say !  He  didn't  hurt 
y'  a  teeny-weeny  bit!" 

Pressing  eagerly  round  him,  smiling  back  at  him  fondly, 

those  book  people  whom  he  loved  best  replied  proudly: 

"Course  he  didn't !    Shucks  !    We  don't  bother  'bout  him!" 

"Oh,  fine !    Fine !"  answered  Johnnie. 

Next,  he  understood  in  a  flash  why  it  was  that  Father 

Pat   could   feel   so   satisfied   about   Edith   Cavell.      That 

general  (whose  name  was  like  a  hiss)  could  shoot  down  a 


THE   VISION  323 

brave  woman,  and  hide  her  body  away  in  the  ground,  hut 
he  could  not  destroy  her!  No !  not  with  all  his  power  of 
men  and  guns!  She  would  live  on  and  on,  just  as  these 
dear  ones  of  his  lived  on!  And  the  fact  was,  her  execu- 
tioner had  only  helped  in  making  her  live ! 

Yes,  and  here  she  was,  right  now,  standing  in  white  be- 
side scarlet-clad  Galahad!  In  the  darkness  her  nurse's 
dress  glimmered.  "I'm  better  'cause  I  know  you,"  John- 
nie said  to  her.  His  tied  right  hand  closed  as  if  on  the 
hand  of  another,  and  he  bent  his  head  on  the  oilcloth,  as 
if  before  a  Figure.  "Oh,  thank  y'  for  comin' !" 

Then  came  another  wonderful  thought :  what  difference 
did  it  make — really — whether  he  was  on  his  back  on  his 
square  of  old  mattress,  or  here  on  his  face  across  the  table 
if  he  wished  to  think  some  splendid  adventure  with  all  these 
friends?  "Not  a  bit  o'  difference!"  he  declared.  i'Not  a 
bit!"  Big  Tom  had  been  able  to  tie  fast  his  feet  and 
hands ;  but  in  spite  of  that  Johnnie  could  go  wherever  he 
pleased ! 

His  wound-darkened,  tear-stained  face  lit  with  that  old, 
radiant  smile.  "Big  Tom  can't  tie  my  thinks !"  he  boasted. 
He  was  out  of  his  body  now,  and  up  on  his  feet,  looking 
into  the  faces  of  all  those  book  friends.  "So  let's  take  a 
ship — your  ship,  Jim  Hawkins!  Ye-e-eh,  let's  take  the 
Hispaniola,  and  sail,  and  sail !  Where?  The  'Cific  Ocean? 
'R  t'  Cathay?  'R  where?"  Then  he  knew!  "Say!  we'll 
take  a  'stronomy  trip !"  he  announced. 

In  one  swift  moment  how  gloriously  arranged  it  all 
was !  Halfway  across  the  kitchen  floor,  here  were  wonder- 
ful marble  steps— steps  guarded  on  either  side  by  a  stone 
lion !  The  steps  led  up  to  a  terrace  that  was  rather  start 
lingly  like  Father  Pat's  description  of  the  terrace  below 
the  great  New  York  Public  Library;  yet  it  was  not  the 
Library  terrace,  since  there  was  no  building  at  the  fartt 


324          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

side  of  it.  No,  this  wide,  granite-floored  space  was  nothing 
less  than  a  grand  wharf. 

Up  to  it  Johnnie  bounded  in  his  brown  shoes — and  a 
new  think-uniform  fully  as  handsome  as  the  one  Big  Tom 
had  thrust  into  the  stove.  On  the  step  next  to  the  top 
one,  some  one  was  waiting — a  person  dressed  in  work- 
clothes,  with  big,  soiled  hands,  and  an  unshaven  face.  This 
individual  seemed  to  know  that  he  was  out  of  place  and 
looking  his  worst,  for  his  manner  was  apologetic,  and  down- 
cast. He  implored  Johnnie  with  sad  eyes. 

It  was  Big  Tom ! 

How  beautiful  the  terrace  wharf  was,  with  its  balus- 
trades, and  its  fountains,  and  its  giant  vases,  these  last 
holding  flowers  which  were  as  large  as  trees!  And  how 
deliciously  cool  was  the  breeze  that  swept  against  John- 
nie's f*se  from  the  vast  air  ocean  stretching  across  the 
roofs!  At  the  very  center  of  the  terrace  was  the  place 
of  honor.  There  Johnnie  took  his  stand. 

He  glanced  round  at  the  longshoreman.  "No,  we  don't 
want  y'  on  this  trip,"  lie  said  firmly.  He  felt  in  a  pocket 
for  a  five-cent  piece,  found  it,  and  tossed  it  to  Barber. 
"Go  and  buy  y'rself  a  lemon  soda,"  he  bade  kindly. 
"Hurry  and  git  away,  'cause  some  folks  is  comin'." 

Poor  Barber !  In  spite  of  all  he  had  done,  it  was  almost 
pitiful  to  observe  how  disappointed  he  was  at  this  order, 
for  he  yearned  to  be  included  in  the  approaching,  and 
thrilling,  adventure.  He  got  to  a  knee,  holding  out  both 
hands.  "Johnnie,"  he  said,  "I'll  work !  I'll  do  the  loadin' 
and  unloadin'!"  (The  cargo  hook  was  round  his  thick 
neck.) 

"Nope,"  answered  Johnnie,  carelessly.  "Don't  need 
y'.  Got  Aladdin's  slaves."  He  waved  a  hand,  motioning 
the  suppliant  off. 

Below  Big  Tom  scores  of  Johnnie's  friends  were  wait- 
ing— his  book  friends,  his  real  friends,  and  his  think- 


THE   VISION  325 

acquaintances.  Ignoring  the  longshoreman,  Johnnie  called 
down  to  them.  "Come  on  up  !"  he  invited.  "Come  ahead ! 
The  wind's  fine !  The  ship,  she's  headin'  this  way !" 

Music  sounded,  for  just  that  second  Johnnie  had  or- 
dered a  band.  With  the  music  there  was  plenty  of  dandy 
drumming — Rumpety!  rumpety!  rump!  rump!  rump! 

Then,  ushered  by  Buckle,  the  guests  began  to  stream 
up  the  steps.  One-Eye  was  first,  attended  by  all  of  his 
fellow  cowboys;  and  there  was  some  yip-yipping,  and  Id- 
eying,  in  true  Western  fashion,  Johnnie  saluting  each  be- 
furred  horseman  in  perfect  scout  style.  On  the  heels  of 
all  these  came  Long  John  Silver,  stumping  the  granite  with 
his  wooden  leg,  and  bidding  his  fellow  buccaneers  walk 
lively.  Of  course  Jim  Hawkins  was  of  this  party,  carry- 
ing the  pieces-of-eight  parrot  in  one  hand  and  leading  Boof 
with  the  other. 

David  and  Goliath  were  the  next,  and  each  was  so  pleas- 
ant to  the  other  that  no  one  would  have  guessed  they  had 
ever  waged  a  fight.  The  two,  like  all  who  had  gone  by 
before,  gave  Barber  a  withering  look  as  they  passed  the 
drooping  figure,  after  which  Mr.  Buckle,  acting  as  a  sort 
of  Grand  Introducer,  planted  himself  squarely  in  front 
of  Big  Tom,  turning  upon  him  that  gorgeous  red-plush 
back,  and  wholly  cutting  off  his  view. 

"Glad  t*  see  y'! — It's  fine  y'  could  come !— How-d'y'- 
do!"  Johnnie's  hand  went  from  side  to  hat  brim  like  a 
piston. 

Another  parrot !  This  was  Crusoe's,  borne  by  the  Is- 
lander's servant,  Friday,  who  strode  in  the  wake  of  his 
master  along  with  any  number  of  man-eating  savages,  all, 
however,  under  perfect  control.  And  on  the  heels  of  these, 
having  just  alighted  from  mammoth,  armored  and  how- 
dahed  elephants,  advanced  Aladdin,  escorting  his  Princess 
and  her"  father,  the  Sultan,  and  accompanied  by  fully  a 
hundred  slaves,  all  fairly  groaning  under  trays  of  pearls 


B26          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

and  rubies,  diamonds  and  emeralds.  The  slaves  and  the 
savages  mingled  with  one  another  in  the  friendliest  fash- 
ion; and  as  Uncas  and  his  painted  and  feathered  braves 
now  appeared,  yelling  their  war  cry  and  swinging  their 
tomahawks,  there  was,  on  hand,  as  Johnnie  remarked  to 
Mr.  Buckle,  quite  an  assortment  of  kitchen  and  other  help 
for  the  voyage. 

"But  y're  the  boss  o'  'em  all,"  Johnnie  hastened  to  add. 
"So  don't  y'  let  one  o'  'em  run  y'." 

Of  course  Mr.  Perkins  could  not  be  left  out  of  this 
extraordinary  voyage.  He  came  with  Cis,  the  latter  wear- 
ing such  a  pretty  pink  dress.  Grandpa  walked  with  them, 
looking  straight  and  strong  and  happy.  The  first  two, 
as  might  have  been  expected,  paid  not  the  slightest  atten- 
tion to  the  longshoreman  beyond  making  a  slight  detour 
in  passthg  him.  But  the  old  veteran  shook  a  stern  head  at 
his  son. 

Rumpety!  rumpety!  rumpety!  rump! 

Small  wonder  that  the  music  was  blaring  forth  again! 
For  here  were  guests  of  great  distinction — Mr.  Carnegie 
(looking  older  than  formerly),  Mr.  Rockefeller,  Mr.  Astor 
and  Mr.  Vanderbilt.  There  was  no  mistaking  them,  for 
they  wore  millionaire  hats,  soft  and  velvety,  and  coats  with 
fur  collars.  All  were  strolling  as  leisurely  and  jauntily  as 
only  true  plutocrats  can  afford  to  do. 

When  they  reached  Big  Tom,  they  halted;  and  at  the 
same  moment  they  turned  their  four  heads  to  stare  at  him, 
and  showed  him  their  four  countenances  in  four  cold 
frowns.  Then — they  turned  their  heads  away,  all  snub- 
bing him  at  once,  and  sauntered  up  the  last  step  to  the 
terrace,  and  so  forward  to  where  their  young  host  stood. 

"Gee,  he  hated  what  y'  done  t'  him !"  exclaimed  Johnnie. 
After  shaking  hands  with  them,  he  passed  them  on  to 
Uncas  and  his  braves,  the  Indians  receiving  them  with 
every  indication  of  cordiality. 


THE   VISION  327 

Bling-ett!  bling-ett!  bling-ell-dee-dee! — a  fresh  burst  of 
melody. 

This  time  the  Prince  and  his  gentlemen  were  approach- 
ing, all  silk-hatted,  and  frock-coated,  and  gold-caned. 
His  Royal  Highness  led — naturally — and  was  assisting 
dear,  little  Mrs.  Kukor  as  he  came,  and  she  was  beaming 
up  at  Royalty,  and  talking  at  him  with  both  pudgy  hands, 
and  rocking  madly  in  her  effort  to  keep  step. 

Following  on  the  proper  salutations,  the  English  Prince 
and  Aladdin  very  properly  got  together,  treating  each 
other  like  old  friends,  while  Johnnie  faced  about  to  greet 
Father  Pat,  who  was  puffing  and  blowing  as  he  made  the 
last  step,  and  pointing  back  over  a  shoulder  to  where  King 
Arthur  was  approaching  with  Guinivere,  the  former  in 
royal  robes,  with  four  kings  walking  before  him,  bearing 
four  golden  swords;  while  the  Queen  had  four  ijueens 
ahead  of  her,  bearing  four  white  doves.  There  was  a  choir 
in  this  majestic  train,  and  after  the  choir  came  fully  two 
dozen  knights  whose  chain  mail  shone  in  the  sunlight  like 
gold. 

"Here  she  comes !" 

Now  hats  waved  wildly,  and  handkerchiefs  fluttered — as 
into  sight,  her  many  rosy,  silken  sails  filled  to  stiffness  with 
the  breeze,  her  scores  of  flags  snapping  in  the  glorious  air, 
and  all  her  lovely  lines  showing  in  sharp  beauty  against  a 
violet-blue  sky,  came  Jim  Hawkins's  superb  ship,  crewless, 
and  unguided,  but  moving  evenly,  slowly,  majestically,  as 
if  she  were  some  living  thing! 

Roses  garlanded  her — pink  roses  by  the  thousands. 
They  circled  her  rail  like  a  monster  wreath.  They  hung 
down  from  her  yardarms,  too,  in  mammoth  festoons.  And 
her  cargo — forward,  it  was  of  watermelons,  which  were 
arranged  in  a  huge  heap  at  the  prow;  aft,  her  load  was 
books!  There  were  books  in  red  bindings,  and  books  in 
brown  and  green.  Here  and  there  on  the  piles  of  volumes 


328          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

a  book  would  be  open,  showing  attractive  illustrations.  To 
judge  of  the  size  of  the  consignment  it  was  evident  that 
not  one  book  had  been  left  in  that  certain  Fifth  Avenue 
store ! 

Cheers — as  softly  the  Hispaniola  came  to  a  stop. 

"All  aboard !"  shouted  Johnnie.  "All  but  Thomas  Bar- 
ber, who's  goin'  t'  be  left  behind  'cause  he  was  so  mean !" 

What  a  blow !  The  longshoreman,  plainly  crushed  by  it, 
sank  lower  on  his  step  and  covered  his  face. 

But  the  company  cared  little  how  he  felt.  Shouting 
gayly,  chatting,  smiling,  waving  to  one  another,  all 
swarmed  across  the  rose-bordered  rail  to  embark  at  John- 
nie's bidding.  Last  of  all  stalked  the  haughty  Buckle — to 
begin  passing  melon. 

"Ready!    Let 'ergo!" 

No*  a  soul-inspiring  blending  of  choir  and  instruments 
— just  as  Johnnie  gave  his  command,  and  the  ship  of  his 
dreams  moved  off  across  the  roofs  of  the  city,  with  no  roll- 
ing from  side  to  side.  Skillfully  she  steered  her  own  way 
among  the  chimneys  till  she  was  lifted  above  them,  all  the 
while  tossing  the  blue  air  to  either  side  of  her  prow  ex- 
actly as  if  it  were  water,  so  that  it  rose  up  in  cloud-topped 
waves,  and  curled,  and  broke  along  her  rose-trimmed  sides 
in  crystal,  from  where  it  fell  to  lay  behind  her  in  a  long, 
tumbled,  frothy  path. 

"Oh,  Cis,  we're  sailin'  the  sky !"  Johnnie  shouted.  His 
yellow  hair  was  blowing  straight  back  from  his  eager, 
happy  face  as  he  peered  forward  (as  a  good  captain 
should)  into  the  limitless,  but  astronomer-charted,  leagues 
ahead.  "We're  floatin'  in  the  ocean  o'  space !" 

Here,  close  at  hand,  was  a  cloud,  monster,  dazzlingly 
white,  and  made  all  of  dew  which  was  heavenly  cool.  Gal- 
lantly the  Hispaniola  plunged  into  it,  sending  the  bits  of 
cloud  from  her  in  a  milky  spray,  but  catching  some  of 
them  upon  her  sides  and  sails,  so  that  as  she  came  forth 


THE   VISION  329 

into  the  sun  again,  she  seemed  set  with  all  of  Aladdin's 
diamonds ! 

"On,  and  on,  and  on,  and  on!"  Johnnie  commanded. 
(He  had  no  time  even  for  a  slice  of  watermelon !)  Oh,  how 
wonderful  to  think  that  there  was  no  shore  ahead  upon 
which  Jim  Hawkins's  ship  would  need  to  beach !  that  John- 
nie and  his  friends  could  go  on  sailing  and  sailing  for  as 
long  as  they  chose ! 

"Look  out  for  the  Great  Bear  and  the  Bull !" — another 
command  for  the  Hispaniola,  for  now  that  the  ship  was 
higher,  she  was  passing  among  the  stars,  all  as  perfectly 
round  as  so  many  toy  balloons,  all  marvelously  luminous, 
and  each  most  accommodatingly  marked  across  its  round, 
golden  face  (in  great,  black,  capital  letters !)  with  its  name 
-MARS,  JUPITER,  SATURN,  VENUS. 

It  seemed  to  Johnnie  as  if  he  were  meeting  old  fliends. 
"Oh,  Arcturus !"  he  hailed.  "Aldebaran !  Neptune !" 

"Johnnie,  don't  bump  the  Moon !"  cried  the  Prince  and 
his  gentlemen,  waving  their  canes. 

"Y>  betcher  life  I  won't!" 

Any  large  body,  the  good  ship  most  considerately 
avoided.  As  for  the  small  ones,  which  had  no  names  on 
them,  if  she  struck  one,  it  glanced  off  of  her  like  a  red-gold 
spark. 

"Aw,  gee !"  cried  Johnnie,  easing  his  tortured  little  body 
by  a  shift  of  his  weight  across  the  table  edge;  "this  is 
jus' fine!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
HELP 

KNOCK!  knock!  knock!  knock! 
At  the  first  knock  of  the  four,  a  sparrow  to 
whom  Johnnie  had,  for  this  long  while,  been  giving 
good-turn  crumbs,  made  a  scrambling  get-away  from 
the  window  sill,  followed  in  the  same  instant  by  a  neat, 
brown  mate  who  was  equally  startled  at  such  a  noise  from 
somewhere  just  within.  For  dawn  was  only  now  coming 
upon  the  thousands  of  roofs  that  shelter  the  people  of  the 
Greatest  City,  the  sun  being  still  far  down  behind  a  sea- 
covered  bulge  of  the  world.  And  this  was  an  hour  when, 
usually,  only  early  birds  were  abroad. 

Rap !  rap !  rap !  rap !  rap !  The  summons  was  louder, 
more  insistent,  and  quite  unmistakably  cross. 

It  roused  Cis,  and  she  lifted  her  head,  and  drew  in  a 
long,  fluttering  breath;  but  she  was  too  stiff  and  weary 
and  sore  even  to  realize  that  a  visitor  was  at  the  hall  door. 
Once  more  she  laid  a  pale,  tear-stained  cheek  upon  the 
table. 

Bang !  bang !  bang !  BANG! 

Now  she  started  up,  understanding  that  help  had  come. 
And  there  was  a  creaking  in  the  bedroom,  where  Barber 
was  preparing  to  rise,  while  he  swore  and  grumbled  under 
his  breath.  Only  Johnnie  did  not  stir.  Between  his  out- 
stretched arms  his  yellow  head  lay  as  still  as  if  it  were 
stone.  Tied  as  he  was,  after  all  the  long  night  hours  his 
legs,  held  straight  down,  had  completely  lost  their  feeling ; 
and  his  arms  were  as  dead  as  his  legs. 

330 


HELP  331 

BANG!  BANG \BANG! 

"Aw,  that'll  do!"  cried  the  longshoreman.  He  came 
slouching  out  of  his  room.  He  was  fully  dressed,  not  hav- 
ing taken  off  his  clothes  the  night  before.  For  it  had  been 
his  intention  to  leave  Cis  and  Johnnie  tied  for  an  hour  or 
two,  then  to  get  up  and  set  them  free.  Now,  seeing  that 
it  was  morning,  he  first  gave  a  nervous  glance  at  the  clock, 
then  hurriedly  dug  into  a  pocket,  fetched  out  his  jack- 
knife,  opened  a  blade,  and  cut  the  ropes  holding  Cis ;  next, 
and  quickly,  he  severed  those  tighter  strands  which  bound 
the  boy. 

Another  bang,  followed  by  an  imperious  rattling  of  the 
doorknob.  Then,  "Tom  Barber,  are  ye  in?  If  ye  are, 
open  this  second,  or  I'll  break  down  yer  door!"  It  was 
Father  Pat's  voice,  lacking  breath,  but  deep  with  anger. 
It  was  plain  to  Big  Tom  that  the  priest  knew  Jf  the 
trouble.  "Now,  who's  been  runnin'  t'  you?"  he  snarled. 
"Never  seen  such  a  buildin'  for  tattle  tales  ! — Here !  Set 
up!"  (This  to  Cis,  who  wavered  dizzily  in  her  chair  as 
the  longshoreman  shoved  her  roughly  against  the  back  of 
it.) 

"Let  me  in,  I  tell  ye !"  ordered  the  Father,  "or  I'll  go 
out  and  find  a  policeman !" 

"All  right !  All  right !" — impatiently.  "Wait  one  min- 
ute !"  Now  Big  Tom  hastened  to  lift  Johnnie  off  the  table 
and  stand  the  boy  upon  his  feet. 

But  the  moment  the  support  of  Barber's  hand  was  taken 
away,  Johnnie  collapsed,  going  down  to  the  floor  in  a  soft, 
little  heap,  from  the  top  of  which  his  blue-marked  face 
looked  up  sightlessly  at  Big  Tom. 

Frightened,  the  latter  lifted  the  boy  and  laid  him  in  the 
morris  chair.  The  small,  cold  body,  partially  covered  by 
the  rags  of  Grandpa's  old  undersuit,  was  so  white  and  limp 
that  it  seemed  lifeless.  Hastily  the  longshoreman  threw 
his  own  coat  over  Johnnie,  after  which  he  swept  together 


332          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

the  several  lengths  of  clothesline  and  flung  them  out  of 
sight  under  the  stove. 

"Barber!" 

The  admitting  of  the  priest  could  be  put  off  no  longer. 
For  even  as  he  called,  Father  Pat  had  put  his  shoulder  to 
the  door,  so  that  an  old  panel  was  bending  inward ;  next, 
he  fell  to  kicking  at  the  bottom  rail  with  a  stout  shoe. 

Barber  gave  a  quick  glance  round  the  kitchen,  then  went 
to  pull  aside  the  bolt.  "Hold  on!"  he  ordered  roughly: 
and  as  he  swung  the  door  open,  "Nice  time  t*  be  hammerin' 
a  man  out  o'  his  bed!" 

There  was  another  in  the  hall  besides  the  Father — Mrs. 
Kukor,  in  her  street  clothes,  and  wearing  her  best  hat. 
Her  face  looked  drawn,  her  black  eyes  weary.  Her  hard 
breathing  proved  that  she  had  just  come  up  three  flights 
instead  of  descending  one. 

As  Barber  caught  sight  of  her,  he  thrust  his  big  frame 
into  the  doorway,  blocking  it.  "There  she  is !"  he  declared 
hotly.  "The  tattler !  The  busybody !  Hidin'  books  for 
a  lazy  kid !  Helpin'  him  t'  waste  his  time !  She  can't  come 
in  here !" 

"Stand  out  o'  me  way !"  cried  the  Father.  "I'm  comin' 
in,  and  this  lady  with  me!" 

"Don't  y'  try  t'  tell  me  what  y're  goin'  t'  do !"  replied 
Big  Tom.  "Y'  can't  take  the  runnin'  o'  this  flat  out  o'  my 
hands — neither  one  o'  y' !  I  ain't  goin'  t'  stand  for  it !" 

"Ha-a-a-a!"  retorted  the  priest.  "And  is  the  abusin' 
o'  two  children  what  ye  call  runnin'  a  flat  ?  And  we  can't 
take  that  out  o'  yer  hands,  can't  we?  Well,  God  be 
praised,  there's  police  in  this  city,  and  there's  societies  t' 
handle  such  hulkin'  brutes  as  yerself,  and — and — /" 
Words  failing  him,  he  shook  a  warning  finger  in  Barber's 
face. 

Down  the  hall  a  door  opened,  and  several  heads  ap- 
peared in  it.  This,  as  well  as  the  priest's  words,  decided 


HELP  333 

Big  Tom  (more  gossip  in  the  house  would  be  a  mistake). 
He  stood  aside  and  let  his  visitors  enter,  instantly  slam- 
ming the  door  at  their  backs.  "I  won't  have  no  girl  out  o' 
this  flat  settin'  in  a  park  with  some  stranger !"  he  declared. 
"I  promised  her  ma  I'd  look  after  her !" 

He  got  no  answer.  There  being  no  movement  in  the 
morris  chair,  under  Big  Tom's  coat,  the  Father  and  Mrs. 
Kukor  had  rushed  past  it  to  Cis,  for  the  moment  seeing 
only  her.  Now  they  were  bending  over  her,  and  "Girl, 
dear!  Girl,  dear!"  murmured  the  priest  anxiously;  and 
"So  !  so  !  so  !"  comforted  the  little  Jewish  lady. 

Cis  seemed  not  to  know  who  was  beside  her.  "He's 
dead!"  she  wept.  "And  it's  my  fault!  All  my  fault! 
O-o-o-oh!"  A  trembling  seized  her  slender  body.  Once 
more  she  swayed,  then  toppled  forward  upon  the  table,  all 
her  brown  hair  falling  over  her  arms.  >  1 

"Vot  wass  she  sayink?"  demanded  Mrs.  Kukor,  fright- 
ened. Falling  back  to  the  big  chair,  she  sat  upon  one  arm 
of  it,  stared  in  horror  at  Cis  for  a  moment,  then  began 
to  cry  and  rock,  beating  her  hands. 

"Barber,  ye've  a  right  t'  be  killed  for  this  !"  cried  Father 
Pat.  "And  where's  the  lad?  What've  ye  done  t'  him? 
God  help  ye  if  ye've  worked  him  rale  harm !" 

Cis  turned  her  face,  and  spoke  again.  "Poor  Johnnie 
died  in  the  night !"  she  sobbed.  "He  couldn't  talk  to  me ! 
I  tried !  He  couldn't  get  water !  Oh,  I  want  water !  Give 
me  a  drink,  Mrs.  Kukor!" 

Mrs.  Kukor  had  risen  as  Cis  talked,  and  Father  Pat 
had  come  to  her.  There  was  horror  in  the  faces  of  both. 
Standing,  his  back  against  the  hall  door,  Barber  began 
to  laugh  at  them.  "Aw,  bosh !"  he  said,  disgusted.  "Dead 
nothin'!  He's  in  the  big  chair  there.  Plenty  o'  kick  in 
him  yet,  and  plenty  o'  meanness !" 

His  lips  moving  prayerfully?  the  priest  turned  and 
looked  down,  then  lifted  the  longshoreman's  coat.  As  he 


334          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

caught  sight  of  the  rope-marked  face  and  shut  eyes  of 
the  boy,  "Oh,  little  lad,  dear !"  he  cried,  heart  stricken  at 
the  sight.  "Oh,  what's  the  crazy  man  done  t'  ye?  Oh, 
God  help  us!" 

Together,  Father  Pat  and  Mrs.  Kukor  brought  out 
Johnnie's  square  of  mattress,  dropped  it  beside  the  morris 
chair,  and  laid  the  half-conscious  boy  upon  it.  Then 
kneeling  beside  him,  one  at  each  side,  they  began  to  rub 
the  life  back  into  his  numbed  limbs.  "He's  breathin',  girl 
dear,"  the  priest  told  Cis,  who  could  not  bring  herself  to 
look  at  Johnnie.  Mrs.  Kukor  said  not  a  word.  But  down 
the  round,  brown  face  the  tears  flowed  steadily. 

Having  made  a  quick  fire  with  kerosene  and  some  kind- 
ling, Barber  lounged  at  the  stove,  warming  some  milk  for 
his  father,  setting  his  own  coffee  to  boil,  having  a  pull  at 
his  p^oe,  and  keeping  a  scornful  silence.  Grandpa's  break- 
fast ready,  he  carried  it  into  the  bedroom  and  fed  the  old 
man.  After  that,  shutting  the  bedroom  door,  he  helped 
himself  to  a  slice  of  bread  and  some  dried-apple  sauce. 
His  manner  said  that  a  great  fuss  was  being  made  in  the 
kitchen  over  nothing. 

It  was  Cis  who  spoke  next — when  Mrs.  Kukor,  leaving 
Johnnie  for  a  little,  came  to  bring  the  girl  a  drink,  and 
bathe  her  face.  "I'm  never  going  to  lie  down  in  this  place 
again,  Mrs.  Kukor,"  she  declared.  "I'm  going  to  leave 
here  this  morning,  and  I'm  never  coming  back — never! 
Can  you  brush  my  hair  right  now,  please?  Because  I 
know  Mr.  Perkins  will  be  here  soon." 

At  that,  Big  Tom  launched  into  a  sneering  laugh.  "Oh, 
is  that  so?"  he  demanded.  "Fine!  I'd  like  t'  see  Perkins, 
all  right !"  His  great  shoulders  shook,  and  a  horrible  leer 
distorted  his  hairy  face. 

The  Father  glanced  up  from  where  he  was  kneeling. 
"Ye  itch  t'  make  trouble,  don't  ye?"  he  charged.  "When 
ye  ought  t'  be  thankful  that  this  young  woman  has  found 


HELP  335 

such  a  good  man  for  a  husband.  I've  watched  the  Perkins 
lad  pretty  close.  I've  been  t'  see  him,  and  he's  called  t' 
see  me.  And  by  ev'ry  way  that  a  man  who's  a  priest  can 
judge  another  man,  I  find  no  fault  in  him." 

"Well,  s'pose  y'  don't,"  answered  Big  Tom.  "It  jus' 
happens  that  7  do." 

"Ye  can't !"  cried  the  other.  "Not  and  be  honest !  Ye 
can't  find  fault  where  there  isn't  fault!  Why,  he  served 
in  France,  and  him  far  under  age.  And  I'll  ask  ye,  where 
was  yerself  durin'  the  late  War?  Supportin'  a  pensioned 
father,  eh?  And  a  girl  that  was  earnin'  her  own  livin'! 
And  a  boy  who's  never  cost  ye  a  cent ! — Ah,  don't  answer 
me!  Don't  stain  yer  soul  with  anny  more  falsehoods! 
Money's  what's  irkin*  ye — the  girl's  earnin's.  They're 
more  t'  ye  than  her  happiness,  and  a  good  home,  and  a 
grand  husband !"  Then  to  Johnnie,  "Wee  poet,  won't  ye 
wink  a  bright  lash  at  the  Father  who  loves  ye? — or  me 
heart'll  split  in  two  pieces !" 

Johnnie  sighed,  and  winked  two  bright  lashes,  where- 
upon the  priest  lifted  the  boy's  head  and  gave  him  a  sip 
from  Cis's  cup  of  water.  "Aw,  a  drink  o'  tea'll  fix  him 
all  right,"  asserted  Barber.  "He  ain't  half  as  bad  off  as  he 
pretends." 

"Don't  talk  t'  me  at  all,  Tom  Barber !"  commanded  the 
priest.  "For  I've  no  temper  for  it  as  I  look  at  the  face 
and  shoulders  o'  this  lad  that  ye've  whipped  so  cruel !  Or 
at  the  girl  that  ye've  tied  up  this  whole  long  night !" 

By  now,  Cis,  wrapped  in  her  own  quilt,  was  combed  and 
in  the  big  chair,  and  was  being  plied  with  milk  by  Mrs. 
Kukor.  She  was  out  of  pain  now,  and  her  concern  was 
mostly  for  Johnnie.  She  watched  him  constantly,  smiling 
down  at  him  lovingly.  And  as  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
looked  back  at  her,  she  saw  the  stiff  muscles  of  his  face 
twist  as  if  in  a  spasm,  and  at  the  sight  of  that  twisting 
was  frightened. 


336          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"Oh,  Johnnie!"  she  faltered.    "Oh,  what's  the  matter?" 

Johnnie's  lips  moved.  "Noth — nothing"  he  whispered 
back.  "I— I'm  jus'  try  in' t'  smile." 

"Ah,  there's  a  brave  lad  for  ye !"  exclaimed  the  Father, 
the  tears  shining  in  the  green  eyes.  "Not  a  whine !  Not 
a  whimper!  Where'd  ye  find  another  boy,  Tom  Barber, 
that'd  take  yer  heavy  hand  in  the  spirit  o'  this  one? 
Shure,  there's  not  a  look  out  o'  him  t'  show  that  he's  hatin' 
ye  for  what  ye  did  t'  him !  Ha-a-a !  It's  a  pearl,  he  is, 
cast  under  the  feet  o'  a  pig !" 

"Y'  can  cut  that  out !"  said  the  longshoreman.  Putting 
down  his  pipe,  he  crossed  the  room  to  the  priest. 

Father  Pat  got  to  his  feet,  but  he  did  not  retract.  "Ye 
old  buzzard!"  he  stormed.  "Do  ye  dare  t'  lift  yer  hand 
against  the  servant  o'  God?" 

Big  Tom  fell  back  a  step  then,  as  if  remembering  who 
the  man  before  him  was.  "Jus'  the  same,  y'  better  go," 
he  returned.  "From  now  on,  y'  better  keep  out  o'  this !" 

"I'll  go,"  answered  the  priest,  calmly,  "when  I'm  tossed 
out  o'  the  windy — or  the  door.  But  I'll  not  go  by  me  own 
choosin'.  I'm  not  lastin'  long  annyhow,  so  ye  can  drop 
me  into  the  court  if  ye  like.  Then  the  law  will  take  ye 
out  o'  the  way  o'  these  dear  children." 

Barber  clenched  and  unclenched  his  fists,  yearning  to 
strike,  yet  not  daring.  "Go  home  and  mind  y'r  own  af- 
fairs," he  counseled. 

"Me  own  affairs  is  exactly  what  I'm  mindin',"  retorted 
the  Father.  Then,  mournfully,  "Oh,  if  only  I  had  me  old 
strength!  If  me  lungs  wasn't  as  full  o'  holes  as  a  sieve! 
I'd  say,  'Tom  Barber,  come  ahead !'  And  as  God's  me 
witness,  I'd  thrash  ye  within'  a  inch  o'  yer  black  life!" 
And  he  shook  a  finger  before  the  longshoreman's  nose. 

Mrs.  Kukor  was  giving  Johnnie  some  milk.  He  whis- 
pered to  her,  fearing  from  the  look  in  her  dark  eyes  that 
she  was  blaming  herself  bitterly  for  what  had  happened 


HELP  337 

to  his  books.  "Don't  y'  worry,"  he  pleaded;  "it  wasn't 
nobody's  fault.  And  if  y'  hadn't  kept  'em  upstairs  long 
as  y'  did,  he'd  've  burned  em  'fore  ever  I  learned  'em." 

"Chonnie!"  she  gasped.  Concerned  for  the  safety,  yes, 
even  the  lives,  of  the  two  she  loved,  she  had  forgotten  to 
inquire  the  fate  of  that  basketful.  Now  she  knew  it! 
"Oy !  oy !  oy !  oy !" 

"Aw,  shut  up  y'r  oy-oy's,"  scolded  Big  Tom. 

Father  Pat  had  heard  Johnnie,  and  understood  him. 
"But  we'll  not  be  carin'  about  anny  crazy  destruction," 
he  announced  cheerfully;  "for,  shure,  and  there's  plenty 
more  o'  'em  on  sale  in  this  town." 

Johnnie  stared  up,  trying  to  comprehend  the  good 
news.  "The  'xact  same  ones?"  he  asked. 

"Little  book  lover,  I'll  warrant  there's  a  thousand  o* 
each  story — if  a  man  was  t'  take  count." 

"Oh!" 

The  Father  knelt.  "Lad,  dear !"  he  exclaimed  tenderly. 
"Faith,  and  did  ye  think  that  ye  owned  the  only  copies  in 
the  world  o'  them  classics?" 

Now  Johnnie  fully  realized  the  truth.  "Oh,  Father 
Pat!"  he  cried,  and  fell  to  laughing  aloud  in  sheer  joy. 

"God  love  the  lad !"  breathed  the  priest,  ready  to  weep 
with  happiness  at  restoring  that  joy.  "Was  there  ever 
such  another?  Why,  in  one  hour,  and  without  spendin'  a 
penny,  I  could  be  readin'  all  seven  o'  yer  books !  Yes,  yes ! 
In  that  grand  book  temple  I  told  ye  about — the  one  with 
the  steps  that  lead  up  (oh,  but  they're  elegant),  and  the 
lions  big  as  horses." 

"I  know,"  said  Johnnie.  "I  remember.  I — I  was  there 
'way  late  last  night — in  a  think." 

"Why,  little  reader  dear,  in  that  temple,  and  out  o'  it. 
shure  and  there's  enough  Aladdins  t'  pave  half  a  mile  o' 
Fifth  Avenue !  and  it's  likely  ye  could  put  up  a  Woolworth 
Building  with  nothin'  but  Crusoes  and  Mohicans !" 


338          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"I'm  so  glad!    So  glad!    My!" 

"And  Father  Pat's  glad,"  added  the  priest.  As  he 
stood  once  more,  he  lifted  a  smiling  face  to  the  ceiling ;  and 
up  past  the  kitchen  of  the  little  Jewish  lady  he  sent  a 
prayer  of  gratitude  to  his  Maker  for  the  blessing  of  that 
instrument  of  man's  genius,  the  printing  press. 

Then  he  fell  to  pacing  the  floor,  now  glancing  at  the 
clock,  again  taking  out  his  watch  and  clicking  its  cover. 
Between  these  silent  inquiries  regarding  the  time,  he  played 
impatiently  with  the  cross  which  hung  against  his  coat  on 
a  black  ribbon.  It  was  plain  that  he  was  expecting  some 
one. 

Big  Tom  understood  as  much,  and  finally  was  moved  to 
speech.  "Y'  won't  bring  no  doctor  in  here,"  he  announced. 
"I  won't  have  no  foolishness  o'  that  kind." 

Father  Pat  ignored  him.  But  to  Mrs.  Kukor,  "Shure, 
and  ye  could  boil  a  leg  o'  mutton  while  ye  wait  for  that 
gentleman,"  he  observed. 

After  that,  for  a  while,  the  kitchen  was  quiet.  Mrs. 
Kukor  left  on  an  errand  to  her  own  flat,  coming  back  al- 
most at  once  with  two  eggs  deliciously  scrambled  on  toast, 
and  some  stewed  berries,  tart  and  tasty.  These  delicacies 
had  a  wonderfully  reviving  effect  upon  both  Cis  and  John- 
nie, and  the  latter  even  found  himself  able  to  sit  up  to 
eat. 

"Now  I'm  so  weak,"  he  told  Father  Pat,  "wouldn't  this 
be  a'  awful  fine  time  t'  play  shipwreck  with  Crusoe,  and 
git  washed  on  shore  more  dead'n  alive?" 

"Now,  then,  it  just  would!"  agreed  the  priest.  "But  as 
ye've  been  near  dead  once  this  day,  shure,  ye'd  best  think 
o'  stayin'  alive  for  a  change." 

The  last  bit  of  egg  was  eaten,  the  last  nibble  of  toast, 
too,  and  the  fruit.  "Oh,  yes,  I'm  too  tired  t'  think  'bout 
a  wreck,"  admitted  Johnnie. 


HELP  339 

"Rest,  lad  dear !  Rest !"  The  quilt  was  tucked  round 
the  weary  limbs. 

One  of  those  big-girl  hands  reached  up  and  drew  the 
priest's  head  lower.  "I  guess  where  I  been  is  on  the  dan- 
ger line,  all  right,"  Johnnie  whispered.  "And  the  Hand- 
book said  a  scout  don't  flinch  in  the  face  o'  danger,  and 
this  time,  gee,  I  didn't!" 

A  rest  and  some  good  food  had  made  Cis  feel  like  her 
former  self  by  now.  Presently  she  walked  into  the  little 
room,  lit  a  nubbin  of  candle,  and  changed  into  her  best 
clothes.  While  she  was  gone,  Johnnie  drew  on  his  old,  big 
trousers,  and  donned  Barber's  shirt,  then  moved  to  the 
morris  chair.  As  for  Mrs.  Kukor,  she  was  gone  again, 
her  face  very  sober,  and  the  line  of  her  mouth  tight  and 
straight.  As  she  teetered  out,  it  was  plain  that  she  was 
all  but  in  a  panic  to  get  away.  ' 

For  evidently  things  were  to  happen  in  the  flat  before 
long.  The  air  of  the  room  proclaimed  this  fact.  And 
plainly  Barber  was  uneasy,  for  he  stalked  about,  starting 
nervously  whenever  Father  Pat  shut  the  watch,  or  when 
a  footfall  sounded  beyond  the  hall  door. 

All  at  once  a  loud  tramping  was  heard  on  the  stairs — 
a  determined  tramping,  as  if  half  a  dozen  angry  men  were 
setting  down  their  feet  as  one.  Doors  flew  open,  voices 
hailed  one  another  up  and  down  the  building,  and  Mrs. 
Kukor  could  be  heard  pattering  in  a  wide  circle  beyond 
the  ceiling.  All  of  this  disturbance  brought  Cis  out  of  her 
tiny  room,  pink-faced  once  more,  and  eager-eyed. 

The  next  moment,  with  a  stomp  and  a  slam,  and  with- 
out knocking,  One-Eye  made  a  whirlwind  entrance  into  the 
kitchen,  and  halted,  his  wide  hat  grotesquely  over  one  ear, 
a  quid  of  tobacco  distending  that  cheek  which  the  hat  brim 
touched,  a  score  of  questions  looking  from  that  single  eye, 
and  every  hair  on  the  front  of  those  shaggy  breeches  fairly 
standing  out  straight. 


340          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"Wai?"  he  demanded,  banging  the  door  so  hard  behind 
him  that  all  the  dishes  in  the  cupboard  rattled.  He  had  on 
gauntlets.  Their  cuffs  reached  half-way  to  his  elbows. 
These  added  mightily  to  his  warlike  appearance. 

"A-a-a-a-h!"  greeted  Father  Pat,  joyously. 

So  this  was  the  person  whose  arrival  had  been  awaited ! 
Nonchalantly  Big  Tom  shifted  his  weight  from  foot  to 
foot,  and  chuckled  through  the  stubble  of  his  beard. 

"One-Eye!"  cried  Cis.  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come! 
Oh,  One-Eye,  he  tied  us  to  the  table  all  night!  And  he 
whipped  Johnnie  with  the  rope!" 

That  lone  green  eye  began  to  roll — to  Cis's  face,  seeing 
the  truth  written  there,  and  the  story  of  her  long  hours 
of  suffering;  to  the  countenance  of  the  priest,  to  ask, 
dumbly,  if  any  living  man  had  ever  heard  anything  more 
outrageous  than  this ;  then,  "By  the  Great  Horn  Spoon !" 
he  breathed,  and  again  stomped  one  foot,  like  an  angry 
steer. 

Big  Tom's  smile  widened. 

Now,  the  Westerner  crossed  to  Johnnie,  bent,  and  with 
gentle  fingers  held  under  the  boy's  chin,  studied  those  welts 
across  the  pale  cheeks.  "Crimini !"  he  murmured.  "Crim- 
ini !  Crimini!" 

"Look  at  his  chest,  and  his  back !"  Cis  advised. 

The  cowboy  lifted  Johnnie  forward  in  the  morris  chair, 
and  held  away  the  big  shirt  from  breast  and  shoulders. 
What  he  saw  brought  him  upright  like  a  pistol  shot,  his 
face  suddenly  scarlet,  his  mustache  whipping  up  and  down, 
and  that  eye  of  his  glowering  at  the  longshoreman  fero- 
ciously. "Caesar  Augustus,  Philobustus,  Hennery  Clay!" 
he  burst  out.  "Bla-a-ack  a-a-and  blu-u-ue!" 

"And,  oh,  listen  what  else  he  did !"  Cis  went  on.  "The 
uniform  you  gave  to  Johnnie " 

"Yas?" 

"He  put  it  in  the  stove!" 


HELP  341 

One-Eye  stared.  "He  put  it  in  the  stove?"  he  repeated, 
but  as  if  this  really  was  quite  beyond  belief. 

"My — my  scout  suit,"  added  Johnnie,  who  was  too  worn 
out  to  weep. 

"The  priceless  brute!"  announced  Father  Pat. 

"Yes,  and  all  of  Johnnie's  books,  he  burned  them,  too," 
Cis  added. 

But  One-Eye's  mind  dwelt  upon  the  uniform.  "He  put 
it  in  the  stove !"  he  drawled.  "That  khaki  outfit  I  give  t' 
the  boy !  He  burned  it !  And  it  fresh  outen  the  store !" 

"The  medal,  too,  One-Eye!  Johnnie's  father's  medal! 
It  was  in  the  coat.  So  all  that's  left  is  the  shoes !" 

"All  that's  left  is  the  shoes,"  growled  One-Eye.  "He 
burned  the  hat,  and  the  coat,  and — and  all.  After  I'd 
paid  good  money  fer  'em!  The  gall!  The  cheek!  The 
impydence!"  He  drew  a  prodigious  breath.  « 

"Go  ahead !    Sing  about  it !"  taunted  Barber. 

One-Eye  was  in  anything  but  a  singing  mood.  Spurred 
by  that  taunt,  of  a  sudden  he  began  to  do  several  startling 
things:  with  a  gurgle  of  rage,  he  snatched  off  the  wide 
hat,  flung  it  to  the  floor  with  all  his  might,  sprang  upon  it, 
ground  it  into  the  boards  with  both  heels;  jerked  off  his 
gauntlets  and  hurled  them  down  with  the  hat ;  next  wrig- 
gled out  of  his  coat  and  added  it  to  the  pile  under  his  boots ; 
then  ran  his  hands  wildly  through  his  hair,  so  that  it  stood 
up  as  straight  as  the  hair  on  his  breeches  stood  out ;  and, 
last  of  all,  fell  to  pushing  back  his  sleeves. 

Fascinated  the  others  watched  him.  Was  this  the  good- 
natured,  shy,  bashful,  quiet  One-Eye,  this  red-faced,  ramp- 
ing, stamping  madman? 

He  addressed  Barber:  "Oh,  y'  ornery,  mean,  low-down, 
sneakin'  coyote !"  He  took  a  long,  leaping  step  over  the 
things  on  the  floor — a  step  in  the  direction  of  the  long- 
shoreman. As  he  sprang,  he  shifted  his  tobacco  quid  from 
one  cheek  to  the  other.  "Say!  I'm  plumb  chuck-full  o' 


342          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

y'r  goin's-on!  I'm  stuffed  with  y'r  fool  pre-forra-ances ! 
I'm  fed  up  t'  the  neck  with  'em !  and  sick  o'  'em !  and  right 
here,  and  now,  you  and  me  is  a-goin'  t'  have  this  business 
O-U-T !" 

"He  knows  how  t'  spell  it,"  remarked  Barber,  face- 
tiously. 

"Heaven  strengthen  the  arm  o'  ye !"  cried  the  Father. 

Head  ducked,  hands  out  like  a  boxer,  One-Eye  again 
began  an  advance  toward  Big  Tom,  doing  a  sort  of  a  skat- 
ing step — a  glide.  And  as  he  came  on,  Barber  threw  back 
his  head  and  guffawed.  "Oh,  haw !  haw !  haw !  haw !  haw !" 
he  shouted.  "Y'  don't  mean  y're  goin'  t'  finish  me!  Oh, 
haw!  haw!  haw!" 

"A  haw-haw's  aig  in  a  hee-hee's  nest!"  returned  One- 
Eye,  and  spat  on  his  hands.  "Finish  y'  is  what  I  aim  t* 
do !  4  I  been  waitin'  and  waitin' !"  ( The  cowboy  was  say- 
ing more  in  these  few  minutes,  almost,  than  he  had  during 
all  of  his  former  visits  to  the  flat!)  "I've  waited  since 
the  first  time  I  clapped  my  eye  on  y' !  I'm  the  mule  that 
waited  seven  years  !  I  been  storin'  up  my  kick !  And  now 
it's  growed  to  a  humdinger!  Y've  whaled  this  here  boy, 
and  tied  up  this  here  girl !  His  face  is  cut,  and  his  back 
is  black,  and  raw,  and  bleedin'!  Wai,  it's  Tom  Barber's 
turn  t'  git  a  hidin'! — the  worst  hidin'  a  polecat  ever  did 
git !  So !  Where'll  y'  take  it  ?  In  this  house,  'r  outside  ?" 
The  question  was  asked  with  a  final,  emphatic  stomp,  an 
up-throw  of  the  disheveled  head,  a  spreading  outward  of 
both  gartered  arms. 

"That's  the  way  t'  talk !"  vowed  the  Father.  "Shure, 
a  coward  needs  his  own  punishment  handed  t'  him ! — Take 
yer  whippin',  Tom  Barber,  and  take  it  like  a  man!  For 
it's  a  whippin'  that's  justly  comin'  t'  ye  this  mornin',  as 
all  the  neighborhood'll  agree!" 

"Where?"  One-Eye  insisted,  for  the  longshoreman  had 


HELP  343 

not  replied  to  the  question.  "Let's  don't  lose  no  time! 
I'm  a-goin'  t'  hand  y'  a  con-vul-sion !  That's  it !  A  con- 
vul-sion!  I'm  goin'  t'  pull  the  last,  livin'  kink  outen  y'! 
Two  shakes  o'  a  lamb's  tail,  and  I'll  show  y'  a  civy-lized 
massacree !  Yip-yip-yip-«/£tf-oK7/" 

"Goin'  t'  wipe  me  out,  eh?  Goin'  t'  put  me  t'  bed?" 
Barber  laid  down  his  pipe. 

"Goin'  t'  ship  y'  t'  the  Hospital !"  Side  gliding  to  the 
stove,  the  cowboy  delivered  up  his  quid. 

"Hee !  hee !"  giggled  the  longshoreman.  "Guess  I'll  jus' 
knock  that  other  eye  out!" 

One-Eye  was  waltzing  back.  "Don't  count  y'r  chickens 
'fore  they're  hatched !"  he  warned.  "  'Cause  here  y're 
gittin'  a  man  o'  y'r  own  size,  y'  great,  big,  overbearin' 
lummox !" 

Barber  held  up  a  hand.  "This  ain't  no  place  t'  fijht," 
he  protested.  "The  old  man'd  hear." 

"Y'  can't  git  outen  it  that-a-way!"  shouted  One-Eye, 
arms  in  the  air.  "They's  miles  o'  room  outside!  Come 
down  into  the  yard  !  Mosey !  Break  trail !  Vamose !" 
He  waved  the  other  out. 

Buoyed  up  by  so  much  excitement,  Johnnie  managed  to 
stand  for  a  moment.  "One-Eye!"  he  cried,  all  gratitude 
and  pride ;  and,  "One-Eye !"  Cis  echoed,  her  palms  together 
in  a  dumb  plea  for  him  to  do  his  best. 

The  Westerner  gave  her  a  look  which  promised  every 
result  that  lay  in  his  power.  Then  with  a  jerk  of  the 
head  at  Father  Pat,  and  again  "Yip-yipping"  lustfly,  he 
bore  down  upon  the  grinning  longshoreman,  who  was  filling 
the  hall  doorway. 

They  met,  and  seized  each  other.  Big  Tom  took  One- 
Eye  by  either  shoulder,  those  great  baboon  hands  clamp- 
ing themselves  over  the  top  joints  of  the  Westerner's  arms. 
The  latter  had  Barber  by  the  front  of  his  coat  and  by  an 


344.          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

elbow.  For  a  moment  they  hung  upon  the  sill.  Then, 
pivoting,  they  swung  beyond  it.  As  Father  Pat  closed 
the  door  upon  them,  at  once  there  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
trio  in  the  kitchen,  the  sounds  of  a  rough-and-tumble  bat- 
tle. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ONE-EYE   FIGHTS 

THOSE  sounds  of  combat  which  penetrated  to  an 
anxious  kitchen  were  deep,  rasping  breathings,  mut- 
tered exclamations  and  grunts,  a  shuffling  of  feet 
that  was  not  unlike  a  musicless  dance,  a  swish-swishing,  as 
if  the  Italian  janitress  were  mopping  up  the  hall  floor, 
and  a  series  of  soft  poundings. 

Yet  the  battle  itself  was  not  amounting  to  much.  In 
fact,  to  speak  strictly,  no  fight  was  going  on  at  all. 

In  the  first  place,  the  hall  was  narrow,  and  gave  small 
scope  for  a  contest  on  broad,  generous  lines — even  had 
One-Eye  and  Big  Tom  known  how  to  wage  such  a  bout; 
and  both  men  knew  little  concerning  the  science  of  self- 
defense.  What  happened — without  any  further  abusive 
language — was  this :  the  longshoreman  and  the  cowboy 
(while  using  due  caution  against  coming  too  close  to  the 
flimsy  railing  of  the  stairs)  each  set  about  throwing  his 
antagonist. 

One-Eye  sought  to  trip  the  longshoreman,  but  was  un- 
successful, finding  those  two  massive  pillars,  Big  Tom's 
legs,  as  securely  fixed  to  the  rough  flooring  as  if  they 
were  a  part  of  the  building  itself.  With  his  tonglike 
arms,  Barber  pressed  down  with  all  his  might  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  Westerner ;  and  that  moment  in  which  One-Eye 
weakened  the  firmness  of  his  own  stand  by  thrusting  out  a 
boot  to  dislodge  his  enemy,  the  longshoreman  had  his 
chance;  with  a  smothered  voicing  of  his  disgust  (for  One- 

345 


346          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Eye  wished  to  make  as  little  noise  as  possible  in  that  semi- 
public  place),  down  went  the  cowboy  to  his  knees. 

Several  brunette  heads  were  thrust  out  of  doors  above 
and  below.  Melodious  Italian  voices  exclaimed  and  ques- 
tioned and  replied,  mingling  with  cries  in  Yiddish  and 
East  Side  English.  All  the  while  One-Eye  clasped  Big 
Tom  about  the  legs,  and  held  on  grimly,  and  received,  on 
either  side  of  his  weather-beaten  countenance,  a  score  of 
hard  slaps. 

These  were  skull-jarring,  and  not  to  be  endured.  So 
One-Eye  thrust  his  head  between  Big  Tom's  spraddled 
legs ;  then,  calling  upon  every  atom  of  his  strength,  he 
forced  his  shoulders  to  follow  his  head,  loosening  the  long- 
shoreman's clutch ;  and  with  a  grunt,  down  came  the  giant, 
falling  upon  the  cowboy  (which  accounted  for  another 
grurfc),  and  pinning  him  to  the  dusty  floor. 

Sprawled,  as  it  were,  head  and  tail,  a  contest  for  upper 
place  now  began.  One-Eye  writhed  like  a  hairy  animal 
(this  the  swish-swishing).  Being  both  slender  and  agile, 
he  managed  to  wriggle  out  from  beneath  Big  Tom,  who  in- 
stantly turned  about  and  caught  him,  and  once  more  laid 
upon  him  the  whole  of  his  great,  steel-constructed  bulk. 

The  pair  strained  and  rolled.  After  several  changes  of 
position,  in  which  neither  man  was  at  all  damaged  except 
in  his  appearance,  Barber  came  to  the  top  and  staved 
there,  like  the  largest  potato  in  a  basket.  Then  straddling 
the  lighter  man,  who  was  blowing  hoarsely,  Big  Tom  cuffed 
him  leisurely. 

As  Father  Pat  listened  to  all  this,  leaned  against  the 
door  with  his  ear  cocked,  he  hoped  with  all  his  heart  for 
the  triumph  of  right  over  might.  "And  I  can  but  stand 
by  t'  give  consolation  and  bear  witness !"  he  mourned, 
though  how  he  was  bearing  witness  was  not  apparent. 

"Oh,  stop  them !  Stop  them  !"  pleaded  Cis,  a  hand  over 
each  ear,  for  her  courage  was  lessening.  "Oh,  I'm  afraid 


ONE-EYE  FIGHTS  347 

he's  hurting  One-Eye  awful!  Oh,  Barber'U  kill  him, 
Father!  And  what  good'll  that  do  us?" 

Thus  implored,  the  priest  took  a  swift  survey  of  the 
hall.  But,  "Oh,  don't  go!"  Cis  begged.  "And  shut  it! 
Shut  it !" 

"Who's  on  top?"  Johnnie  wanted  to  know. 

"They're  wrastlin',"  announced  the  Father.  "So  don't 
be  alarmed.  And  Mr.  Gamboni's  out  there,  and  he'll  not 
see  bloodshed!" 

"/  don't  worry !"  boasted  Johnnie.  "CJs,  what  makes  y* 
talk  the  way  y'  do?  Barber,  he  can't  lick  a  cowboy!" 

"Y'  pesky  critter !" — this  from  the  hall,  in  unmistakable 
westernese. 

"Y'  hear?"  joyously  demanded  Johnnie,  recognizing 
One-Eye's  voice.  "Y'  hear,  Father  Pat?  Oh,  I  don't  have 
t'  look !  I  know  how  it's  goin' !  I  can  see  it !  One-Eye's 
got  him  down!  He's  hammerin'  him  good! — Oh,  go  for 
him,  One-Eye !  Go  for  him !  Go  for  him !" 

Slap !  slap !  slap ! 

To  judge  from  these  sounds,  the  cowboy  was  carrying 
out  Johnnie's  wish.  So  with  that  rapt  look,  and  that  mov- 
ing of  the  nostrils  which  betokened  excited  day-dreaming, 
Johnnie  gladdened  himself  with  a  soul-satisfying  picture 
of  the  contest :  Big  Tom  prone  on  his  face,  spent,  helpless, 
cowering,  pleading,  bleeding,  while  the  dashing  One-Eye 
rained  blow  after  blow  upon  him — bing!  bing!  bing! 
("Makin*  a  meal  outen  him,"  as  the  man  from  the  West 
would  say).  Next,  he  saw  the  longshoreman  stretched 
upon  a  bed  of  pain,  admitting  all  of  his  shortcomings  to 
Father  Pat  in  weak  whispers. 

It  was  all  so  real  to  Johnnie  that  he  fell  to  pitying  Big 
Tom! 

He  pitied  him  more  as  the  scene  changed  swiftly  to  that 
of  a  funeral  (Barber's,  of  course),  at  which  he — Johnnie 
— in  a  new  suit,  with  Cis  beside  him,  made  one  carriage- 


34-8          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ful  in  an  extended  line  of  carriages,  all  rolling  circum- 
spectly along.  That  One-Eye's  plight,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, might  be  trying,  to  say  the  least,  Johnnie  for- 
got to  consider,  wholly  passing  over  the  small  matter  of 
an  inquiry  on  the  part  of  the  police  authorities !  What  he 
did  anticipate,  however,  was  a  flat  that,  in  the  future, 
would  be  a  peaceful,  happy,  quiet  place — the  home  of 
just  Grandpa,  Cis,  and  himself. 

"Oh,  Father  Pat,  by  now  One-Eye's  'dead !"  wailed  Cis. 
"Oh,  why  didn't  some  one  stop  them!  Oh!  Oh,  dear!" 

This  interruption  to  Johnnie's  visioning  was  followed 
by  a  loud  laugh,  and  the  turning  of  the  hall  doorknob. 
Johnnie  raised  himself  on  an  elbow,  lifting  a  hopeful  face. 
"One-Eye !"  he  cried.  "Hooray!  Hooray!" 

But  it  was  Barber  who  strode  into  the  room. 

He*  ivas  grinning  from  one  huge,  outstanding  ear  to  the 
other.  "Ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !"  he  chortled  triumphantly. 
"Guess  I'll  have  t»  go  t'  the  Hospital !  Look  how  I'm  all 
beat  up !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !" 

As  he  stood  laughing,  his  bristling  face  split  across  by 
the  brown  line  that  was  his  teetH,  his  bulging  eyes  shut  with 
merriment,  his  wide,  fat  nose  giving  its  sidewise  jerk  with 
each  guffaw,  Johnnie,  staring  up  at  him,  thought  of  the 
terrible  African  magician :  of  the  murderous,  cruel  Magua : 
of  wicked  Tom  Watkins  and  all  tHe  man-eating  savages 
whom  the  valiant  Crusoe  fought. 

Here  was  a  man  worse  than  them  all !  Also — there  was 
no  doubt  of  it — here  was  the  victor! 

But  what  about  One-Eye? 

"One-Eye!"  wailed  Johnnie,  in  terror.  For  suddenly 
his  imagination  furnished  him  with  a  new  picture,  this  time 
of  the  Westerner.  And,  oh,  it  was  a  sadly  different  picture 
from  that  other!  It  showed  the  cowboy,  torn,  broken, 
beaten,  stretched  dead  in  his  own  lifeblood. 


ONE-EYE  FIGHTS  349 

"Oh,  Dio  mio! — Oy!  oy!  oy!  oy!  oy! — He  oughta  be 
pinched !" 

The  opening  door  let  in  this  much  of  the  heated  opinion 
of  a  portion  of  the  building.  The  opening  door  also  ad- 
mitted the  cowboy.  Slowly,  soberly,  almost  crawling,  he 
came. 

He  was  mournfully  changed.  That  single  eye  was 
puffing  redly.  His  straw-colored  hair  was  almost  dark  with 
sweat,  and  inclined  to  lie  down.  From  either  shoulder 
hung  woefully  a  half  of  his  vest,  which  had  ripped  straight 
down  its  back !  And,  yes,  there  was  blood  in  evidence ! — 
on  the  knuckles  of  both  hands!  This  bright  decoration 
was  from  a  nose  which  dripped  scarlet  spots  upon  the 
front  sections  of  the  vest. 

"Oh,  One-Eye!"  moaned  Cis,  yet  not  without  relief. 
At  least  he  was  alive — could  stand — could  walk !  « 

"Goodness !"  Johnnie's  exclamation  had  in  it  a  note 
of  pure  chagrin.  His  cowboy  had  not  won !  "What  did 
he  do  t*  y'?"  the  boy  wanted  to  know,  almost  blamefully. 

"Do?"  repeated  the  cowboy,  wrathfully.  "Say!  He 
went  and  busted  my  fountain  pen  !"  He  began  feeling  his 
way  toward  the  stove.  When  he  got  as  far  as  the  mat- 
tress, he  first  hunted  his  handkerchief  and  applied  it  to 
the  stopping  of  that  nasal  stream,  then,  grunting  pain- 
fully, he  lay  down. 

"Git  all  y*  wanted?"  inquired  the  longshoreman. 

"My  land!"  returned  the  Westerner.  "I  got  a  hay- 
wagonful !" 

"Man  dear!"  gasped  Father  Pat,  making  for  the  wash 
basin. 

Johnnie  felt  suddenly  heartsick.  Would  not  the  tale 
of  One-Eye's  defeat  scatter  in  the  neighborhood?  and  if 
it  did,  would  not  his  own  proud  position  be  threatened 
along  with  the  cowboy's  ?  Whipped  by  Tom  Barber ! 


350          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

That  was  all  right  for  a  kid!  But  for  a  man  who  wore 
hair  on  his  breeches ! 

The  boy  sank  back  in  the  morris  chair.  "I'd  sooner 
Big  Tom'd  whip  me  again !"  he  declared  under  his  breath. 

Barber  was  mocking  One-Eye.  "Yes,  man  dear!"  he 
said.  "Heaven  didn't  make  y'r  arm  as  strong  as  y* 
wanted  it,  eh  ?"  He  was  very  cocky,  and  pushed  out  either 
cheek  importantly  with  his  tongue. 

Father  Pat  was  now  washing  a  rapidly  closing  eye  on 
a  sadly  battered  countenance.  "Shure,  Heaven'll  deal  with 
ye  in  its  own  good  time !"  he  promised,  nodding  a  portent- 
ous head. 

Big  Tom  snorted.  "He's  been  waitin'  and  waitin',"  he 
observed ;  " — ever  since  he  first  met  me.  That's  why  he 
give  me  such  a  hidin' !" 

One-Eye,  the  stains  of  carnage  wiped  from  lip  and  chin, 
peered  up  through  a  tiny  slit  between  those  puffing  lids. 
"Big  as  a  barn,"  he  asserted,  but  without  temper.  "Big 
as  a  Poland  Chinee  pig!  All  beef!  All  fat!"  And  to 
Johnnie,  sunk  in  his  quilt,  "Don't  y'  beller,  sonny,  7  ain't 
got  no  grunt  comin'.  I  done  my  best.  But  he's  stronger'n 
me,  that's  all  they  is  to  it,  and  heftier.  But  it  all  goes  to 
show  that  if  7  ain't  no  match  for  him,  he's  lower'n  a 
sheep-eatin'  greaser  t*  go  hit  a  kid — 'r  a  girl\"  Before 
that  eye  slit  closed,  he  crawled  to  where  his  hat,  coat  and 
gauntlets  were,  took  them  up,  and  fell  to  warping  them 
into  shape  again.  "But  y'r  time'll  come,  sonny!"  he 
vowed.  "Y'r  time'll  come!  Jes'  y'  wait!" 

"Well,  I  didn't  keep  you  waitin',"  bragged  Barber,  with 
another  loud  laugh.  "And  if  there's  anybody  else — " 
His  look  sought  the  priest.  "Why,  say !  You're  a  fighter, 
ain't  y',  Father  Pat?  Wasn't  y'  in  the  trenches?  I 
wonder  y'  don't  lick  me  y'reself.  Ho !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !" 

At  that,  the  red  anger  spread  itself  among  the  stubble 
of  the  same  hue  on  the  Father's  still  unshaved  jaws.  "No," 


ONE-EYE  FIGHTS  351 

he  answered  grimly,  speaking  with  the  thicker  brogue  that 
always  came  into  his  English  along  with  his  wrath.  "No, 
Oi  can't  give  ye  the  dustin'  that's  comin'  t'  ye,  Barber." 

"It'll  take  a  man  t'  lick  me,"  declared  the  longshoreman 
proudly.  He  thumped  his  chest.  "Yes,  sir,  a  reg'lar- 
sized  man !  Now,  Furman,  he  says  that,  barrin'  the  World 
Champion,  'r  some  guy  like  that,  there  ain't  a  man  stand- 
in'  on  two  feet  in  this  whole  country  that  can  down  me !" 
He  thrust  out  his  lower  lip. 

"Ha-a-a-a !"  breathed  the  priest,  scornful.  He  helped 
guide  One-Eye  to  the  kitchen  chair.  "Well,  the  man  Oi 
once  was,  Oi  presinted  him  t'  me  counthry.  So  here's 
what's  left  av  me.  But,  Barber,  punishment's  comin'  t' 
ye !  Mar-rk  me  wor-r-rd !" 

Suddenly  Big  Tom  gave  a  shout.  "Say!"  he  cried. 
"Maybe  here's  a  gent  that'd  like  t'  try  his  hand  at  Mckin' 
me!"  For  the  hall  door  had  opened  again,  and  another 
visitor  was  entering — breathlessly,  anxiously,  swiftly. 
"What'd  d'  y'  say,  Mister  Eye-Glassy,  White-Spatty, 
Pinky-Face?" 

"Yes,  sir !  I'll  try  to  do  just  that !  In  fact,  that's  why 
I've  come.  Can't  have  you  strike  a  girl,  you  know,  Mr. 
Barber,  or  a  little  chap  like  Johnnie;  not  without  trying 
to  punish  you.  So  if  you'll  oblige  me " 

Thus,  with  one  wave  of  a  gloved  hand,  was  Big  Tom 
once  more  bidden  to  fight,  this  time  by  Mr.  Perkins. 

"Oblige?"  repeated  the  longshoreman,  delighted.  "Dear 
Mister  Perkins,  y're  one  person  that  I'm  jus'  achin'  t' 
spank!"  Then  once  more  showing  his  pipe-stained  teeth 
in  a  grin,  "Oh,  but  I  hate  awful  t'  muss  y'  up !  I  hate  t' 
spoil  y%  Perksie!  Y'  look  so  nice  and  neat  and  sweet! 
Almost  like  a  stick  o'  candy !  And,  nobody'll  want  t' 
look  at  y'  after  I  git  done  with  y' !" 

Mr.  Perkins  was  not  ruffled  by  the  longshoreman's 
attempt  at  humor.  "Don't  waste  your  breath  on  com- 


352          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

pliments,  Mr.  Barber,"  he  advised;  "you  may  need  it." 
He  laid  a  new,  black  bowler  hat  on  the  kitchen  table,  and 
proceeded  to  draw  off  his  gloves. 

"God  grant  he  will !"  cried  Father  Pat,  fervently.  "For 
besides  what  he's  done  to  these  children,  look  how  he's 
treated  our  poor  friend  from  Kansas!"  And  the  priest 
stepped  from  between  the  scoutmaster  and  One-Eye. 

The  Westerner  waved  protesting  hands.  "Wy-o-ming !" 
he  corrected,  with  more  than  a  shade  of  irritation.  "Not 
Kansas !  Wy-o-ming !"  He  held  up  a  countenance  that 
was  now  wholly — if  temporarily — blind. 

"Wyoming,"  repeated  Father  Pat,  hastily.  "And 
here's  Mr.  Perkins,  One-Eye,  and  he's  wishin'  tj  shake 
yer  hand." 

At  that,  out  shot  the  cowboy's  right.  It  was  still 
bloody  over  the  knuckles,  the  Father  having  confined  his 
washing  to  One-Eye's  face.  "Put  'er  there!"  invited  the 
sightless  one. 

"How  are  you!"  greeted  Mr.  Perkins,  heartily;  yet 
his  tone  carried  with  it  just  the  right  amount  of  sympa- 
thy. 

"Jes'  so-so,"  answered  One-Eye.  "Look  how  he  slapped 
me  in  the  eye!" 

"Cis,  my  sweetheart,  are  you  all  right?"  inquired  Mr. 
Perkins. 

She  ran  to  him,  and  he  took  her  hands.  "Oh,  yes !"  she 
cried  happily.  "But,  oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come !" 

As  Father  Pat  said  afterward,  it  was  the  sweetheart 
that  did  it.  As  those  young  hands  met,  of  a  sudden  Bar- 
ber's good  humor  went.  "That'll  do !"  he  ordered.  "Jus' 
y'  shut  up  on  them  pretty  names!" 

"Ah!  You  don't  believe  in  affection,  do  you?"  rejoined 
Mr.  Perkins.  His  countenance  wore  an  exasperating  smile. 

"I  don't  b'lieve  in  puppy  love !"  answered  Big  Tom. 
"I  don't  b'lieve  in  the  soft,  calf  stuff!  And  I'd  jus'  like  t' 


ONE-EYE  FIGHTS  353 

know  how  it  happens  that  you  two  guys  're  here  at  this 
time  in  the  mornin'!  How  does  it  come?  Some  one  must 
've  fetched  y' !  And  I'm  goin'  V  know,  *r  else  I'm  goin'  t' 
break  ev'ry  last  bone  in  y'r  dude  body !" 

"Oh,  my  goodness !"  quavered  Johnnie.  He  turned  and 
twisted  in  the  big  chair.  And  he  wished  with  all  his 
might  that  he  was  having  either  a  very  bad  think,  or  a 
torturing  nightmare.  Seeing  this  second  friend  come,  he 
had  felt  an  awful  sinking  of  the  heart.  If  the  Westerner, 
rough  and  ready  and  leathery  as  he  was,  could  not  con- 
quer Big  Tom,  what  would  the  young  scoutmaster  be  able 
to  do  ? — and  he  so  slender  and  light  when  compared  to  the 
giant  longshoreman!  And  now  the  latter  was  working 
himself  into  a  rage !  Johnnie,  head  thrust  from  the  folds 
of  the  quilt,  told  himself  that  the  whole  world  was  coming 
to  an  end.  9 

But  Mr.  Perkins  did  not  seem  to  be  disturbed  by  Bar- 
ber's threats.  "Fancy  that!"  he  said  calmly.  "Every 
bone!  But  where  will  you  take  it,  Mr.  Barber?" 

"Take  what?"  asked  the  longshoreman. 

"Your  whipping,"  answered  Mr.  Perkins ;  " — the  good, 
sound,  punching  that  I'm  going  to  give  you."  He  began 
to  get  out  of  his  coat. 

A  shout  of  laughter — from  Big  Tom,  who  next  addressed 
the  ceiling.  "Oh,  listen  t'  this  cute  baby  boy !"  he  cried. 
"He  thinks  he  can  lick  me!  Me! — one  o'  the  strongest 
men  on  the  whole  water  front !  One-Eye,  tell  him  how  far 
you  got !  Oh,  save  his  life,  One-Eye !  Save  his  life !" 

"Wisht  I  had  a  chunk  o'  fresh  beefsteak  fer  this  lamp !" 
declared  the  cowboy,  too  miserable  to  care  about  what 
was  going  forward. 

"Well,"  continued  Mr.  Perkins,  "if  you're  so  certain  on 
the  score  of  what  you're  going  to  do  to  me,  Mr.  Barber, 
then,  of  course,  you'll  be  willing  to  make  a  bargain  with 
me.  Yes?" 


354          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Barber  was  in  fine  spirits.  '"Go  ahead!  Course  I'll 
bargain!  Anything  y'  like!  Git  it  out  o'  y'r  system!" 
He  sucked  his  teeth  noisily. 

"If  I  come  out  winner,"  began  the  scoutmaster,  very 
deliberately,  "then  I'm  to  have  Narcissa  for  my  wife — 
and  you'll  sign  your  consent.  And  we  shall  go  at  once 
— this  morning — and  be  married." 

"So  that's  y'r  bargain,  is  it?"  said  Big  Tom.  "Well, 
I'll  say  this:  if  y'  can  lick  me,  which  y'  can't,  then  I'll 
make  y'  a  present  o*  Cis " 

"Don't  give  away  what  isn't  yours!"  Cis  interrupted 
sharply.  "And  please  understand,  bargain  or  no  bargain, 
that  I'm  leaving  here  this  morning.  If  I  can't  marry  Mr. 
Perkins  without  your  consent,  then  I'll  just  wait  till  I 
can." 

Tip  longshoreman  ignored  her.  "I  stick  by  what  I've 
jus'  said,  Perksie,"  he  went  on,  impudently.  "BUT — if 
I  lick  you,  and  I'm  goin'  t',  then  out  y'  trot,  and  down,  and 
y'  lose  her!  Y'  understand?" 

"I  understand  that  I  lose  her  until  she  is  old  enough 
to  do  as  she  chooses,"  amended  Mr.  Perkins. 

"After  t'day,  y'  don't  see  her  again,"  insisted  Big  Tom, 
"till  she's  growed  up." 

"I'll  see  him  every  day !"  cried  Cis.  "Every  day ! 
— Don't  agree  to  that,  Algy!  The  marriage  part,  yes, 
because  we  can't  help  ourselves.  But  he's  not  going  to 
part  us!  I'm  leaving,  but  wherever  I  am,  I'm  going  to 
sec  you!" 

The  longshoreman  turned  toward  her  now,  and  his  look 
was  full  of  hate.  "I  guess  y'll  do  jus'  about  what  I  tell 
y'  to,"  he  said  significantly.  "Algy's  goin'  t'  be  too  sick 
t'  look  after  y'." 

Johnnie  emitted  a  woeful  little  peep.  "Oo-oo !  Mister 
Perkins!"  he  pleaded.  "Couldn't  y'  put  off  fightin'  till 
— till  some  other  time?" 


ONE-EYE  FIGHTS  355 

Johnnie's  anxious  demand  amused  Big  Tom.  It  amused 
Cis,  too,  but  for  a  wholly  different  reason.  As  they 
laughed  together,  each  challenged  the  other  with  angry 
eyes. 

Johnnie,  feeling  fainter  every  moment,  marveled  as  he 
stared  at  Cis.  There  was  no  question  as  to  her  perfect 
confidence  regarding  the  outcome  of  the  fight.  And  he 
marveled  even  more  when  he  looked  at  Mr.  Perkins.  The 
latter  was  cheerful — even  gay !  He  forgot  nothing.  First, 
he  shook  hands  with  Father  Pat ;  next  with  One-Eye. 
"Maybe  you'd  like  to  have  me  put  you  into  a  taxicab 
before  this  row  starts,"  he  said  to  the  cowboy. 

"Nope,"  was  the  answer.  "I'm  goin'  t'  stay  fer  the 
concert." 

Mr.  Perkins  went  to  Cis,  took  her  fingers  in  his,  bent 
gallantly,  and  kissed  them.  "Wish  me  good  lucV  ne 
bade  her. 

"It  won't  be  luck,"  she  answered. 

"Ain't  his  hands  nice  and  clean!"  mocked  Barber. 
"Ain't  his  nails  shiny !"  There  was  an  ugly  glitter  in  the 
bulging  eyes  once  more.  A  moment  later,  as  he  found 
himself  close  to  Mr.  Perkins  (for  the  latter  had  come  to 
join  him),  he  acted  upon  a  sudden  temptation.  Reaching 
out,  with  an  impudent  grin  he  tweaked  the  younger  man 
lightly  by  the  nose. 

Biff! 

The  blow  was  so  sudden,  so  powerful  and  straight  to 
its  mark  (which  was  a  jaw),  that  Big  Tom's  breath  went 
— as  his  toes  tipped  up,  and  he  began  to  reel  backward, 
fanning  the  air  with  both  arms. 

"Ha-a-a-a!"  cried  the  priest.  "No  wonder  ye  stand 
t'  yer  feet,  Johnnie  lad!  Shure,  that  puts  the  faith  into 
tyel  don't  it!" 

Barber  was  against  a  wall,  choking,  spluttering.     "You 


356          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

— you — you — !"  he  panted.  "The  idear  o'  hittin'  a  man 
without  warnin' !" 

"I  know,"  agreed  Mr.  Perkins,  good-naturedly.  "Also, 
the  idea  of  pulling  a  man's  nose  without  warning." 

Now  Big  Tom  was  in  the  proper  frame  of  mind  for 
the  fight.  "You  go  on  downstairs!"  he  ordered.  "And 
let  me  tell  y'  this:  When  I  git  done  with  y',  they'll  pick 
y'  up  on  a  quilt!  Git  that? — on  a  quilt!" 

Mr.  Perkins  opened  the  hall  door.  "You  lead  the  way 
downstairs,"  he  said.  "I  trust  you,  Mr.  Barber,  but  some- 
how I  don't  trust  your  feet." 

Then  the  two  went  out,  the  longshoreman  trembling 
with  rage. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

SIR   ALGERNON 

TO  the  right,  at  the  rear  end  of  the  long,  black  hall- 
way that  connected  the  area  with  the  street  on  the 
north,  was  a  good-sized  room  which  had  once  been 
used  by  a  job  printer — as  proven  by  the  rubbish  in  it: 
strips  of  wood,  quantities  of  old  type,  torn  paper,  and 
ragged,  inky  cloths.     The  room  had  a  pair  of  large  win- 
dows looking  out  upon  the  brick  pavement ;  but  a£  these 
windows  were  smeared  and  dust-sprinkled,  the  place  offered 
privacy.     And  Barber,  leading  the  way  down  from  his 
own  flat,  did  not  halt  until  he  stood  in  the  center  of  it. 

"I'm  not  goin'  t*  have  no  cop  stop  this  fight,"  he  declared 
grimly. 

Mr.  Perkins,  entering,  shut  the  door  at  his  back. 
"Neither  am  I,"  he  answered  quietly. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  as  the  two  men,  separated 
by  several  feet,  gazed  at  each  other.  Physically,  the  con- 
trast between  them  was  horrific.  Slight,  neat,  dapper, 
showing  even  no  ill-temper,  Mr.  Perkins  seemed  but  a  poor 
match  for  Barber,  whose  appearance  was  more  gorilla- 
like  than  usual  (hair  disheveled,  heavy  shoulders  humped, 
teeth  grinding  savagely  under  puffed  and  bristling  lips, 
huge  hands  at  the  ends  of  long,  curving  arms,  spreading 
and  closing  with  the  desire  to  clutch  and  rend).  Yet  Big 
Tom  was  plainly  not  so  cocksure  of  himself  as  he  had 
been,  while  the  scoutmaster  wore  an  air  of  complete  con- 
fidence. 

357 


358          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Suddenly,  muttering  a  curse,  the  longshoreman  lurcKed 
forward  and  reached  for  the  younger  man.  In  the  same 
instant,  Mr.  Perkins  clenched  his  own  fists  and  held  them 
before  him  on  guard.  But  also  he  advanced,  thougK  elu- 
sively,  slipping  to  one  side  of  those  great  paws.  As  he 
side  stepped,  with  a  duck  of  the  head  he  gathered  himself 
together,  snapped  forward,  and  landed  a  jab  square  upon 
Barber's  right  eye. 

"Ow-oo !"  It  was  a  bellow,  mingling  surprise  with  rage 
and  pain.  Involuntarily,  the  longshoreman  fell  back  a 
pace,  and  lifted  a  hand  to  his  face.  As  he  did  so,  with 
another  down-jerk  of  the  chin,  and  another  leap,  once 
more  the  scoutmaster  rammed  him — upon  the  left  eye. 
And  followed  this  up  with  a  lightning  stroke  on  that  big, 
twisted  nose. 

At  this,  Big  Tom  made  a  rush.  So  far,  the  fight  was 
not  or  the  kind  he  had  waged  with  One-Eye — a  rough- 
and-tumble  affair  in  which  brute  strength  and  weight 
counted  in  his  favor.  But  pounds,  combined  with  lack  of 
training,  slowness,  and  awkwardness,  put  him  at  a  sad 
disadvantage  when  facing  this  smaller,  lighter  man  who 
had  speed,  and  science,  and  was  accustomed  to  bouts. 
Since  Barber  could  not  change  his  own  method  of  fighting, 
he  understood  that  he  must  change  the  tactics  of  his 
adversary;  must  grab  the  scoutmaster,  bear  him  to  the 
floor,  and  beat  him.  This  he  determined  to  do.  Wildly 
he  churned  the  air  with  those  knuckles  of  steel. 

"If  I  git  my  hands  on  y',"  he  stormed,  "I'll  tear  y'  in 
two!"  The  taste  of  his  own  blood  was  in  his  mouth  now,  for 
a  warm  stream  of  it  was  spreading  from  his  nostrils  to  his 
lips  and  chin. 

"You  won't  get  your  hands  on  me,"  promised  Mr.  Per- 
kins. He  dodged  nimbly  from  side  to  side  as  the  long- 
shoreman came  on,  and  kept  just  beyond  the  latter's 
grasp.  Watching  his  chance,  he  darted  in  and  landed  a 


SIR   ALGERNON  359 

fourth  blow — under  an  eye;  then  got  away  again,  care- 
fully preserving  himself  against  being  struck  while  doing 
the  greatest  amount  of  damage  possible  to  the  enemy. 

All  the  time  he  watched  to  see  that  he  was  not  cornered. 
A  moment,  and  the  junction  of  two  walls  came  over  close 
to  his  back ;  so  under  one  of  those  flesh-and-blood  flails 
he  slipped ;  and,  coming  up  behind  Big  Tom,  struck  the 
latter  a  whanging  blow  on  an  ear.  "You're  going  to 
spank  me,  are  you?"  he  taunted.  "Well,  come  on  and  do 
it!  Come  on!" 

More  maddened  than  ever,  and  swearing  horribly,  the 
longshoreman  whirled  and  started  a  second  pursuit.  He 
blew  the  blood  from  his  lips,  the  better  to  breathe,  spatter- 
ing the  scarlet  countenance  of  Mr.  Perkins  with  scores  of 
dots  which  were  a  deeper  red/-  And  as  he  blew,  he  cut 
the  air  with  his  arms,  hitting  nothing.  O 

"Why  don't  y'  stand  up  and  fight !"  he  raged.  "Stop 
that  jumpin'  'round!" 

"Oh,  you  want  to  wrestle,  don't  you!"  mocked  Mr. 
Perkins.  "But  this  time  you've  got  to  box!" 

"Y'  won't  git  ev'rything  y'r  own  way !"  vowed  Big  Tom, 
panting  curses,  and  still  whirling  his  arms  like  the  fans 
of  a  windmill. 

Changing  bis  steps  like  a  dancer,  the  scoutmaster  fell 
back.  But  now  he  was  at  a  disadvantage,  for  his  face  was 
toward  those  windows,  and  the  light  was  in  his  eyes.  As 
he  flitted  and  shied,  tiring  Barber  and  shortening  the  big 
man's  wind,  he  watched  his  chance  to  bolt  under  and  by 
as  before.  Foot  on  foot  the  space  between  him  and  the 
rear  wall  of  the  room  lessened.  He  sprang,  now  right,  now 
left,  on  the  alert  for  his  opening.  It  came.  He  shot  for- 
ward  

A  staggering  clout  from  a  heavy  hand  hurled  him 
against  a  side  wall  like  a  battering-ram.  The  breath  was 


360          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

driven  out  of  his  lungs.  Dizzily  he  plunged  forward  to 
his  hands  and  knees  among  the  debris  on  the  floor. 

"Ha-a-a-a-a !"  It  was  a  shout  of  triumph  from  the 
longshoreman. 

But  that  wallop,  hard  as  it  was,  had  been  delivered 
accidentally.  And  as  Barber,  whose  eyes  were  now  swell- 
ing from  the  scoutmaster's  initial  blows,  scarcely  knew 
where  his  opponent  was,  he  failed  to  seize  Mr.  Perkins, 
who  was  up  like  a  cat,  and  on,  and  facing  round. 

"Now  I'll  git  y'!"  cried  Barber.  As  he,  in  turn,  faced 
about,  he  began  to  kick  out  furiously,  now  with  one  foot, 
now  with  the  other. 

Each  moment  was  passing  in  painful  anxiety  to  the 
group  in  the  Barber  flat.  Mrs.  Kukor  made  one  of  that 
grouj^.  having  teetered  in  directly  Big  Tom  and  Mr. 
Perkins  were  gone.  Now  her  hat  was  off  and  her  apron 
on;  with  the  latter  she  constantly  fanned  a  face  which, 
its  color  sped,  was  a  sickly  shade  of  tan.  All  the  while 
she  murmured  strange  words  under  her  breath,  only 
breaking  out  every  now  and  then  with  an  "Ach!  poor 
poy !  Poor  poy !"  As  she  did  not  look  at  either  Johnnie 
or  One-Eye,  it  was  evident  that  she  had  Mr.  Perkins  in 
mind. 

As  for  Father  Pat,  he  complained  about  himself.  "If  I 
only  had  me  lungs !"  he  mourned.  To  and  fro  he  walked, 
to  and  fro.  "If  only  I  could  do  annything  except  talk! 
Dear!  dear!  dear!  dear!'* 

The  cowboy,  blinder  than  ever,  comforted  himself  with 
praising  the  absent  scoutmaster.  "That  young  feller's 
O.  K.,"  he  asserted.  "I  can  tell  it  by  the  way  he  grabbed 
my  paw.  Yas,  ma'am !  I  liked  the  way  he  shook  hands. 
He'll  come  out  better'n  me.  Watch  if  I  ain't  right!  I 
ain't  worryin'!" — this  though  the  sweat  of  concern  was 
even  then  dampening  his  countenance! 


SIR    ALGERNON  361 

Johnnie,  listening  and  watching,  curled  himself  farther 
and  farther  into  his  quilt,  and  feebly  groaned.  He  was 
seeing,  seeing,  seeing,  and  what  he  saw  was  agonizing. 
"Oh,  Mister  Perkins'll  be  licked!"  he  faltered.  "Oh,  I 
wish  I  could've  went  along.  But  I'm  weak!  Oh,  Father 
Pat,  the  next  time  I  git  licked,  I'll  keep  it  t»  myself!" 

"Oh,  don't  be  silly !"  admonished  Cis,  apprehensive,  but 
calm,  being  buoyed  up  by  hope  based  upon  solid  informa- 
tion. "Didn't  I  tell  you,  Johnnie,  to  'wait  till  Mr.  Perkins 
finds  out'?  Well,  we  waited,  tied  to  the  table  like  two 
thieves,  or  something.  And  Mr.  Perkins  has  found  out, 
and  he's  giving  Tom  Barber  a  sound  thrashing!  So  I'm 
not  worrying!" 

"I  can  see  y'  ain't,"  declared  One-Eye,  admiringly.  He 
was  back  at  the  sink  once  more,  allowing  Niagara  to  lave 
that  injured  eye,  now  a  shining  purplish-black.  ^Bully 
fer  the  gal !  That's  the  stuff !  Y'  got  backbone !  And 
spirit,  by  thunder!  And  sand!  Jes'  paste  that  in  yer 
sunbonnet!  But,  Cis,  w'y  don't  y'  skedaddle  right  now? 
Go  whilst  the  goin's  good!  Gosh,  I'm  'feard  that  some 
one's  likely  t'  git  hurt  pretty  bad,  and  it  won't  be  Barber ! 
So  whoever  it  is  will  need  t'  be  nursed." 

"Oy!  oy!  oy!  oy!"  lamented  Mrs.  Kukor. 

"I'll  nurse  him!"  cried  Johnnie,  hardly  able  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  "I'll  go  with  him,  and  take  care  of  him, 
and  cook  for  him." 

"But — but — !"  whispered  Johnnie.  What  he  was 
stand,  Johnnie?  I'm  going  with  him!  I'm  to  be  Mrs. 
Perkins !  And — I'll  be  right  here  when  Algy  comes  in." 

"But — but — !"  whispered  Johnnie.  What  he  was 
thinking  made  allowance  for  no  such  charming  event  as 
a  wedding;  rather  for  the  same  sort  of  doleful  procession 
he  had  pictured  before,  only  now  Big  Tom  was  in  the 
carriage  with  him,  while  poor  Mr.  Perkins ! 

One-Eye  had  something  of  the  sort  in  his  own  mind,  for 


362          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

as  he  forsook  the  sink,  Mrs.  Kukor  leading  him,  he  shook 
a  rumpled  head  at  her.  "Barber's  bigger'n  a  barn!"  he 
observed  grimly. 

"Pos-i-tiwle!" 

Cis  laughed,  tossing  her  head.  "/  don't  care  how  big 
he  is,"  she  declared,  "or  how  mad!  Algy  can  take  care 
of  himself." 

Looking  at  her,  Johnnie  felt  both  pity  and  disgust — pity 
for  the  grief  she  would  undoubtedly  suffer  soon,  disgust 
for  her  girl's  lack  of  understanding.  Was  not  the  young, 
boyish,  slender  scoutmaster  fighting  this  very  moment  for 
his  life,  and  that  with  a  steel-constructed  giant?  "Aw, 
jus'  look  at  One-Eye!"  he  counseled  argumentatively,  and 
groaned  again. 

"Wait  for  Algy,"  returned  Cis,  crossing  to  slip  an 
affectionate  arm  about  Mrs.  Kukor's  shoulders.  "And 
don't  fret.  Because  Algy's  the  amateur  light-heavyweight 
champion  of  his  club,  and  it's  an  athletic  club,  and !" 

"What-a-a-at?"  roared  Father  Pat.  "He's  the — he's 
the — oh,  say  it  again!" 

But  even  as  Cis  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  swift  stops 
were  heard  on  the  stairs  outside.  She  knew  them.  She 
rushed  to  the  door  and  flung  it  wide.  And  the  next  mo- 
ment, fairly  bouncing  in,  and  looking  as  pink-faced,  and 
white-spatted,  and  dapper  as  ever,  was  none  other  than 
Mr.  Perkins. 

The  dude  had  whipped  his  man. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

GOOD-BYS 

A  CHORUS  of  happy  cries  greeted  him :  "Dearest !" 
—"Oh,  gee !"— "Satan's  defeated !"— "Goli'th  wass 
licked,  und  David  wass  boss  !" — "Whoopee !" 

Then,  great  excitement.  Cis  ran  to  Mr.  Perkins,  laugh- 
ing, "Oh,  you're  safe!  You're  safe!"  Whereupon  he 
kissed  her  fingers  again ;  and  Johnnie,  on  his  feet  now, 
felt  that  here,  indeed,  was  a  young  knight  coma  from 
defending  his  lady.  And  he  asked  himself  why  he  had 
ever  thought  that  Mr.  Perkins  was  too  much  of  a  gentle- 
man to  be  awe-inspiring. 

Meanwhile,  Father  Pat  and  Mrs.  Kukor  were  shaking 
hands  like  mad,  and  mingling  their  broken  English  in  a 
torrent  of  gratitude.  To  their  voices,  Grandpa,  out  of 
sight  beyond  the  bedroom  door,  added  his,  not  knowing 
what  the  celebration  was  about,  yet  cackling  hilariously. 

As  for  One-Eye,  his  conduct  was  extraordinary.  Sud- 
denly showing  new  life,  once  more  he  took  off  his  coat, 
found  his  hat  and  gauntlets,  flung  all  under  him,  and  upon 
them  did  a  grotesque  dance  of  joy.  And  "Yip!  yip!  yip! 
yip !"  he  shouted.  "Y*  tole  him  he'd  need  his  breath !  Oh, 
peaches-'n'-cream !  Oh,  cute  baby  boy  !  Oh,  who's  on  the 
quilt  now?" 

"One-Eye,  did  ye  ever  see  anny thing  like  it  in  Kansas  ?" 
demanded  the  Father  triumphantly. 

"Wy-o-ming!  Wy-o-ming!"  roared  the  cowboy.  "Yip! 
yip!  yip!  yee-ow!" 

363 


364          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Johnnie  was  no  less  delighted,  but  he  was  still  too  weak 
to  do  very  much.  He  contented  himself  with  taking  a 
turn  up  and  down  the  room,  walking  like  Mr.  Perkins, 
holding  his  head  like  Mr.  Perkins  (so  that  an  imaginary 
pince-nez  should  not  fall  off),  and  talking  to  himself  in 
true  scoutmaster  style — "To  insure  a  long  life,  to  defend 
oneself,  to  protect  others.  Training,  that's  the  idea! 
Be  prepared!" 

Next,  he  lost  himself  in  a  glorious  think.  This  time  it 
was  far  in  the  future.  He  was  big  and  strong  and  brown. 
And  he  saw  himself  rising  quietly  in  the  very  teeth  of 
some  stalwart  villain  to  say  that  the  matter  of  the  beau- 
tiful young  lady  concerned  (dimly  she  was  a  larger,  but 
a  perfect,  copy  of  the  little  girl  on  the  fire  escape)  would 
be  taken  up  downstairs,  where  a  fight  would  not  disturb 
poor,  rid  Mr.  Tom  Barber. 

At  that  he  fell  to  doing  his  exercises ;  first,  the  arm- 
movements — up,  down !  up  down !  then  the  leg — out,  back ! 
out,  back !  adding  a  bend  or  two  of  his  sore  body  by  way 
of  good  measure,  and  resolving  to  do  better  and  better 
along  these  lines  every  morning  of  his  life  from  now  on. 

Mr.  Perkins  was  the  only  person  who  was  perfectly  calm. 
He  found  his  coat  and  put  it  on;  he  adjusted  his  glasses. 
In  fact,  the  scoutmaster,  returned  unscathed  from  his 
battle,  might  have  been  taken  as  a  model  for  all  victors. 
For  he  did  not  smile  exultantly,  did  not  swagger  one  step, 
but  was  grave  and  modest.  "Put  on  your  hat,  sweetheart," 
he  said  to  CJs.  His  voice  was  deep  and  tender. 

At  once  there  was  hurry  and  bustle.  Mrs.  Kukor  gave 
one  prodigious  doll-rock  which  turned  her  square  about, 
and  she  disappeared  into  the  tiny  room,  evidently  to  help 
with  the  packing.  "Oh,  but  I'm  all  ready !"  declared  Cis, 
following  the  little  Jewish  lady.  "And,  Father  Pat,  you 
won't  mind  coming  with  us?"  asked  Mr.  Perkins.  "I'll 
do  that  with  pleasure,"  answered  the  priest,  heartily. 


GOOD-BYS  365 

Johnnie  felt  a  touch  on  his  arm.  "Sonny!"  One-Eye 
whispered.  "Can't  y'  hear  somethin'?  Listen!" 

All  listened.  From  the  area  below  unmistakable  cheers 
were  rising,  and  taunting  shouts.  They  came  booming 
through  the  kitchen  window.  Barber  was  crossing  the 
brick  pavement  to  the  door  of  the  building,  and  his  neigh- 
bors were  triumphing  in  his  defeat. 

Father  Pat  came  to  Johnnie.  "Lad  dear,"  he  said,  "tell 
me :  as  ye  hear  'em  yell  at  him,  and  all  on  account  o*  what 
he  did  t'  Cis  and  yerself,  and  because  they're  glad  he's 
been  whipped, — tell  me,  scout  boy,  how  d'  ye  feel  towards 
him  in  yer  own  heart?" 

"We-e-ell, — "  began  Johnnie ;  "we-e-ell — "  and  stopped. 
Countless  times  he  had  punished  Big  Tom  in  his  own  way ; 
and  had  looked  ahead  to  the  hour  when,  grown-up,  and 
the  longshoreman's  physical  equal,  he  could  measure  out 
to  the  latter  punishment  of  a  substantial  kind.  Yet  now 
that  Mr.  Perkins  had  done  just  this,  where  was  the  over- 
whelming satisfaction?  He  was  glad,  of  course,  that  Mr. 
Perkins  had  come  out  victor,  and  had  not  been  beaten  as 
One-Eye  had  been  beaten ;  but  so  far  as  he  himself  was  con- 
cerned, the  truth  was  that  Big  Tom's  mortification  was 
dust  in  his  mouth,  and  ashes,  though,  somehow,  he  shrank 
from  admitting  it.  "Well,  Father  Pat,"  he  added  faintly, 
"I — I  guess  I — I'm  not — er — what  y'd  call  glad." 

"Ah,  me  grand  lad!"  exclaimed  the  priest.  "Ye  feel 
like  I  want  ye  t'  feel !  Because  that's  how  a  fine,  decent 
lad  ought  t'  feel!  Not  glad!  Not  gloryin'  over  a  bully 
that's  had  his  desert !  Not  holdin'  on  t'  hate  once  the  fight 
is  done !  Lad  dear,  ye  don't  ever  disappoint  Father  Pat ! 
And,  oh,  he  thanks  God  for  it!" 

Johnnie  felt  boyishly  shy  and  awkward  then,  looking 
at  the  floor  and  wriggling  his  toes,  and  taking  back  into 
his  cheeks  quite  a  supply  of  color  in  the  form  of  blushes. 

One-Eye  also  broke  forth  with  commendations.    "That's 


366         THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

the  ticket!"  he  cried.  "No  crowin'!  Aw,  Johnnie,  y're 
a  blamed  white  kid!"  Whereupon,  feeling  around  close 
to  the  floor  till  he  located  one  of  Johnnie's  ankles,  he  made 
his  way  up  to  those  narrow — and  sore — shoulders,  and 
gave  them  such  a  hearty  slap  of  approbation  that  tears 
started  in  a  certain  pair  of  yellow-gray  eyes. 

"I'm  glad,  too,  that  you  feel  as  you  do  about  it,"  said 
Mr.  Perkins,  earnestly.  "And,  Johnnie,  have  you  done 
your  good  turn  yet  to-day?" 

"No,  sir,"  answered  Johnnie,  apologetically.  "But  y* 
see,  I  been  tied  t'  the  table,  and  also  I  jus'  only  come  to, 
and " 

"I  understand,"  broke  in  the  scoutmaster  quickly.  "But 
perhaps  when  Mr.  Barber  comes  in — his  face,  you  know. 
Could  you  wash  it  up  a  bit?" 

"Y<p-e-e-es,  sir," — reluctantly ;  for  young  as  he  was. 
Johnnie  realized  that  whatever  his  own  feelings  toward 
the  longshoreman  might  be,  they  were  no  gauge  of  the 
feelings  of  the  longshoreman  toward  him.  However,  duti- 
fully he  went  to  find  the  wash  basin,  and  fill  it;  and  he 
accepted  from  Mr.  Perkins  a  most  immaculate  wash  cloth, 
this  one  of  those  wonderful  handkerchiefs  which  had  col- 
ored borders. 

He  was  prepared  for  his  good  turn  not  a  moment  too 
soon.  For  the  stairs  outside  were  creaking  under  slow 
and  heavy  steps.  "The  conq'rin'  hero !"  announced  One- 
Eye,  with  a  blind,  but  sweepin'  bow  in  the  general  direc- 
tion of  the  on-comer. 

"Sh!"  cautioned  Mr.  Perkins. 

One-Eye  did  a  comical  collapse  upon  the  mattress,  his 
reinhand,  as  he  chose  to  term  his  left,  well  stuffed  into 
his  mustached  mouth.  The  others  were  silent,  too — as  the 
door  opened  and  Big  Tom  came  crawling  in. 

This  was  a  woefully  changed  Big  Tom.  His  great, 
hairy  face  was  darker  than  usual,  what  with  the  battering 


GOOD-BYS  367 

it  had  received,  and  the  blood  which  was  drying  upon  it. 
There  was  a  scarlet  gap  across  one  of  those  prominent 
cars,  the  lobe  of  which  was  as  red  as  if  set  with  a  ruby. 
As  he  swung  the  door  and  advanced  unsteadily,  he  tried 
to  keep  his  face  averted  from  those  in  the  room,  and 
hitched  petulantly  at  a  sleeve  of  his  shirt,  which  had  been 
ripped  from  end  to  end  by  a  blow.  Spent,  bent,  beaten, 
half-blind,  puffing  pink  foam  from  his  mouth  at  each 
breath,  he  stumbled  toward  the  bedroom.  The  back  of  one 
hand  was  cut  and  raw,  where  he  had  driven  it  with  all 
his  might  against  a  side  of  the  old  printing  shop,  hoping 
to  strike  the  scoutmaster.  From  it  fell  drops  which 
made  small,  round,  black  spots  on  the  dusty  floor. 

At  sight  of  the  big  man,  so  cowed  and  helpless,  "God 
save  us !"  breathed  Father  Pat,  astounded,  and  sat  down. 

"Mister  Barber!"  It  was  Johnnie,  timidly.  Yet  he 
forced  himself  to  go  close  to  the  longshoreman,  and  held 
the  brimming  basin  well  forward.  "Can  I — will  y*  let  me 
wash  y'r  face?" 

"Lemme  alone  I"  almost  screamed  Big  Tom.  With  a 
curse,  and  without  turning  his  head,  he  made  one  of  those 
flail-like  sweeps  with  an  arm,  struck  the  basin,  and  sent 
it  full  in  the  face  of  the  boy.  It  drenched  the  big,  old 
shirt,  emptied  out  the  wet  handkerchief,  and  whirled  to 
the  floor  with  a  clatter. 

Then,  mumbling  another  curse,  the  longshoreman  spat, 
and  a  large,  brown  tooth  went  skipping  across  the  room. 
Its  owner  lumbered  against  the  bedroom  door,  bumping  it 
with  knees  and  forehead,  opened  it  awkwardly  against  him- 
self, half  fell  upon  the  wheel  chair  as  he  crossed  the  sill, 
swore  louder  than  ever,  and  slammed  the  door  at  his  heels, 
shutting  from  the  sight  of  the  others  his  wounds  and  his 
injured  pride. 

For  a  little,  no  one  said  anything.  Johnnie,  with  the 
water  dripping  from  his  yellow  hair,  was  no  longer  in  that 


368          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

generous,  good-scout  state  of  mind.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  enjoying  some  satisfaction  over  Big  Tom's  plight. 
How  like  a  bully  was  his  foster  father  acting ! — bellowing 
with  delight  when  he  overcame  a  man  smaller  than  himself, 
and  one  who  had  poor  sight;  and  raging  when  a  second 
smaller  man  met  and  bested  him  in  a  fair  fight.  But 
Johnnie  made  no  comment  as  he  picked  up  the  handker- 
chief and  the  basin,  wrung  out  the  linen  square  and  meth- 
odically hung  it  up  to  dry,  and  put  away  the  pan. 

"Man  dear,"  whispered  Father  Pat  to  the  scoutmaster, 
"don't  ye  ever  be  visitin'  here  agin !  For,  shure,  Barber'll 
kill  ye!" 

"Oh!" — Johnnie  was  frightened.  "And  maybe  he'll 
have  y'  'rested !" 

"No,  old  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Perkins,  reassuringly.  "He's 
lost  out,  and  he's  not  likely  to  advertise  it.  — But  I'm 
sorry  about  that  tooth."  He  hunted  it,  found  it,  and 
examined  it  carefully.  "It's  a  front  tooth,  too."  He 
dropped  it  into  the  stove. 

"Too-ooth?"  drawled  One-Eye,  suddenly  sitting  up. 
Not  being  able  to  see,  he  had  not  been  able  to  note  the 
effect  of  the  scoutmaster's  art  upon  Big  Tom.  But  now, 
understanding  a  little  of  the  damage  Mr.  Perkins  had 
done,  the  cowboy  began  to  giggle  like  a  girl,  wrapped  his 
arms  about  his  fur-covered  knees,  laid  his  head  upon  them, 
and  set  his  body  to  rocking  hilariously.  "Oh,  gosh,  a 
tooth!"  he  cried.  "Oh!  Ouch!  And  he  begged  me  t' 
save  this  young  feller's  life!" 

Mrs.  Kukor  came  stealing  out  of  the  tiny  room.  "He 
wass  fierce !"  she  declared,  under  her  breath.  "Nefer  be- 
fore wass  he  soch-like !" 

"Oh,  Mister  Perkins,  hurry  up  and  git  away!"  begged 
Johnnie.  (Suppose  Big  Tom  should  come  bursting  out 
of  the  bedroom  to  renew  the  trouble?)  "It's  been  awful 


GOOD-BYS  369 

here  ever  since  yesterday  and  it  seems  like  I  jus*  couldn't 
stand  no  more !" 

"All  right,  scout  boy."  Mr.  Perkins  took  a  paper 
from  an  inner  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  from  another  a 
fountain  pen  which  Barber  had  not  damaged.  He  handed 
both  to  Father  Pat,  who  rose  at  once  and  boldly  entered 
the  bedroom.  "That's  the  consent,"  the  scoutmaster 
explained  to  Johnnie.  He  got  One-Eye  into  a  chair  and 
bandaged  his  swollen  eye  in  the  masterly  manner  one  might 
logically  expect  from  the  leader  of  a  troop.  This  addition 
to  the  cowboy's  already  picturesque  get-up  gave  him  an 
altogether  rakish  and  daring  touch. 

By  the  time  the  bandaging  was  done,  here  was  Father 
Pat  again,  all  wide,  Irish  smiles.  "Signed!"  said  he. 
"And,  shure,  Mr.  Perkins,  he  paid  ye  a  grand  compliment ! 
Faith,  and  he  did!  It  was  after  he  scratched  his  raime. 
'That  dude,'  said  he,  'if  he  was  t'  work  on  the  docks,'  said 
he,  'would  likely  out-lift  the  whole  lot  of  us.'  Think  o'  it ! 
Those  were  his  very  words !" 

Cis  came  forth  from  her  room  now,  hatted,  and  carry- 
ing what  she  was  taking — a  few  toilet  articles  and  one  or 
two  cherished  belongings  of  her  mother's,  all  carefully 
wrapped  in  a  shoe  box.  That  it  was  pitiful,  her  having 
to  go  with  so  little,  occurred  neither  to  her  nor  to  Johnnie. 
But  it  was  just  as  well  that  they  did  not  understand,  as 
the  older  people  in  the  kitchen  did,  how  tragic  that  shoe 
box  was. 

She  was  carrying  something  which  she  was  not  taking  : 
Edwarda,  until  recently  so  treasured  and  beloved.  She 
laid  the  doll  upon  the  oilcloth,  glanced  at  One-Eye,  and 
put  a  finger  to  her  lips.  "You  can  give  it  to  some  little 
girl,  Johnnie,"  she  said;  " — some  real  poor  little  girl." 

"All  right."  (He  had  decided  on  the  instant  who  should 
have  Edwarda!)  "But  I'd  go  'long  fast,  if  I  was  you," 
he  added,  with  a  fearsome  look  toward  the  bedroom. 


370         THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Cis  came  to  him.  "Mrs.  Kukor'll  be  right  upstairs," 
she  reminded  (the  little  Jewish  lady  was  trotting  out  and 
away,  not  trusting  herself  to  look  on  at  their  farewells). 

"And  I'll  'drop  in  often,"  interposed  Father  Pat; 
"—please  God!" 

One-Eye  divined  what  was  going  forward.  He  got  up 
uneasily.  "Dang  it,  if  I  ain't  sorry  I'm  goin'  West  so 
soon  again!"  he  fretted.  "But  I'll  tote  y'  back  with  me 
some  day,  sonny — see  if  I  don't !  Also,  I'll  peek  in  oncet 
'r  twicet  afore  I  go — that  is,  if  my  lamp  gits  better." 

"All  right,"  said  Johnnie  again.  He  had  but  one  idea 
now:  to  get  every  one  safely  away.  So  he  was  not  sad. 

"You — you  can  have  my  room  now,"  Cis  went  on,  swal- 
lowing, and  trying  to  smile. 

y' 

shook  hands,  then,  both  a  little  awkwardly.  Next, 
she  bent  to  kiss  him.  Boylike,  he  was  not  eager  for  that, 
with  Father  Pat  and  Mr.  Perkins  looking  on.  So  he 
backed  away  deprecatingly,  and  she  succeeded  only  in 
touching  her  lips  to  a  tuft  of  his  bright  hair.  But  at  once, 
forgetting  manly  pride,  he  wound  his  arms  about  her,  and 
laid  his  hurt  cheek  against  her  shoulder;  and  she  patted 
his  sore  back  gently,  and  dropped  a  tear  or  two  among 
the  tangles  brushing  her  face. 

When  he  drew  away  from  her,  he  saw  that  neither 
Father  Pat  nor  Mr.  Perkins  were  watching  them.  The 
former  had  a  hand  across  his  eyes  (was  he  praying,  or 
just  being  polite?);  while  the  scoutmaster,  hands  behind 
him,  and  chin  in  air,  was  staring  out  of  the  window. 

"I'm  ready,  Algy," — Cis  tried  to  say  it  as  casually  as 
if  she  were  going  only  to  the  corner.  She  joined  Father 
Pat  and  One-Eye  at  the  door. 

Now  it  was  Mr.  Perkins's  turn.  He  came  over  and  held 
out  a  hand.  "Well,  John  Blake,"  he  said  (he  had  never 
used  "John"  before),  "you'll  be  in  our  thoughts  every  hour 


GOOD-BYS  371 

of  the  day — you,  and  Grandpa.  You  know  you're  not 
losing  a  sister;  you're  gaining  a  brother." 

They  shook  hands  then,  as  men  should.  But  a  moment 
later,  by  an  impulse  that  was  mutual,  each  put  his  arms 
about  the  other  in  a  quick  embrace. 

"My  little  brother!" 

"My — my  big  brother !" 

"Hate  to  leave  you,  scout  boy." 

"Aw,  that's  all  right.  Y'  know  me,  Mister  Perkins.  I 
don't  mind  this  old  flat.  'Cause, — well,  I  don't  ever  have 
t'  stay  in  it  if  I  don't  want  t'.  I  mean,  I  can  be  wherever 
I  want  t'  be.  And — and  I'm  with  Aladdin  most  o'  the 
time,  'r  King  Arthur.  And  this  next  day  'r  so,  I'm  plan- 
nin'  t'  spend  on  Treasure  Island."  All  this  was  intended 
to  make  them  feel  more  cheerful.  Now  he  smiled ;  and  what 
with  the  shine  of  his  tow  hair,  his  light  brows  anr}  his 
flaxen  lashes,  combined  with  the  flash  of  his  yellow-flecked 
eyes  and  white  teeth,  the  effect  was  as  if  sunlight  were 
falling  upon  that  brave,  freckleless,  blue-striped  face. 

The  four  went  then,  the  Father  guiding  One-Eye,  and 
Cis  with  Mr.  Perkins.  They  went,  and  the  door  closed 
upon  them,  and  a  hard  moment  was  come  to  test  his 
spirit — that  moment  just  following  the  parting.  For- 
tunately for  him,  however,  Grandpa  demanded  attention. 
Beyond  the  bedroom  door  the  little,  old  soldier,  as  if  he 
guessed  that  something  had  happened,  set  up  a  sudden 
whimpering,  and  tried  to  turn  the  knob  and  come  out. 

Johnnie  brought  him,  giving  not  a  glance  to  the  great 
figure  bulking  on  Barber's  bed,  and  shutting  the  door  as 
soft  as  he  could.  He  fed  the  old  man,  talking  to  him  cheer- 
ily all  the  while.  "Cis  is  goin'  t'  be  married,"  he  recounted, 
"and  have,  oh,  a  swell  weddin'  trip.  And  then  some  day, 
when  she  gits  back,  she'll  pop  in  here  again,  and  tell  us 
a-a-all  about  it !  So  now  you  go  s'eepy-s'eepy,  and  when 
y'  wake,  Johnnie'll  have  some  dandy  supper  f'r  y'!" 


372          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

His  boy's  spirit  buoyed  up  by  this  picture  of  great 
happiness  for  another,  he  began  to  sing  as  he  wheeled 
Grandpa  backward  and  forward — to  sing  under  his 
breath,  however,  so  as  not  to  disturb  Big  Tom!  He  sang 
out  of  his  joy  over  the  joy  of  those  two  who  were  just 
gone  out  to  their  new  life ;  and  he  sang  to  bring  contentment 
to  the  heart  of  the  little,  old  soldier,  and  sleep  to  those  pale, 
tired  eyes: 

"Oh,  Cis,  she's  goin'  V  be  Mrs.  'Algernon  Perkins, 
And  live  in  a'  awful  stylish  flat. 
There's  a  carpet  and  curtains  in  the  flat, 
And  a  man  'most  as  good  as  Buckle  t'  do  all  the  work. 
And  she's  goin'  t'  have  a  velvet  dress,  I  think,  maybe, 
And  plenty  o'  good  things  t'  eat  all  the  time — 
Better  ev-ry  day,  I  guess,  and  eggs,  too, 
And  nice,  red  apples,  if  she  wants  'em " 

And  so,  caroling  on  and  on,  he  put  old  Grandpa  ?o  sleep. 

But  how  his  song  would  have  died  in  his  throat  if  he 
could  have  guessed  that,  of  the  four  who  had  just  left, 
— those  four  whom  he  loved  so  sincerely — one,  and  oh, 
what  a  dear,  dear  one,  was  never  to  pass  across  the  thresh- 
old again! 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

LEFT  BEHIND 

EMPTY! 
He  did  not  enter  the  tiny  room.     Now,  all  at 
once,  it  seemed  a  sacred  place,  having  for  so  long 
sheltered  her  who  was  sweet  and  fine.    And  he  felt  instinc- 
tively that  the  blue-walled  retreat  was  not  for  him;  that 
he  should  not  stretch  himself  out  in  his  soiled,  ragged 
clothes  on  that  dainty  couch-shelf  where  she  had  lair* 

He  stood  on  the  threshold  to  look  in.  How  beautiful  it 
was !  From  to-day  forward,  would  she  truly  have  another 
any  handsomer?  The  faint  perfume  of  it  (just  recently 
she  had  acquired  a  fresh  stock  of  orris  root)  was  like  a 
breath  from  some  flower-filled  garden — such  a  garden  as 
he  had  read  about  in  The  Story  of  Aladdin.  And  yes, 
the  little  cell  itself  was  like  one  of  Aladdin's  caskets  from 
which  had  been  taken  a  precious  jewel. 

Just  now  it  was  a  casket  very  much  in  disarray,  for  Cis 
had  tumbled  it  in  wind-storm  fashion  as  she  made  ready 
to  leave,  carelessly  throwing  down  several  things  that  she 
had  formerly  handled  delicately :  the  paper  roses,  the  sliver 
of  mirror,  the  pretty  face  of  a  moving-picture  favorite. 
As  for  that  box  flounced  with  bright  crepe  paper,  it  was 
ignominiously  heaved  to  one  side.  And  that  cherished  like- 
ness of  Mr.  Roosevelt  was  hanging  slightly  askew. 

But  Johnnie  did  not  set  straight  the  photograph  of 
his  hero,  or  stoop  to  pick  anything  up.  He  could  think  of 
just  one  thing:  she  was  gone! 

373 


374          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

And  she  would  never  come  back — never,  never,  never, 
never!  He  began  to  repeat  the  word,  as  he  and  Cis  had 
been  wont  to  repeat  words,  trying  hard  to  realize  the  whole 
of  their  meaning :  "Never !  never !  never !  never."  And  once 
more  there  came  over  him  that  curious  lost  feeling  that  he 
had  suffered  after  Aunt  Sophie  was  gone  in  the  clanging 
ambulance.  Once  more,  too,  he  grew  rebellious.  "Oh,  why 
does  everything  have  t'  go  'n'  bust  up!"  he  questioned 
brokenly,  voicing  again  the  eternal  protest  of  youth  against 
an  unexpected,  pain-dealing  shift  in  Life's  program. 

That  time  he  had  run  away,  she  had  promised  that  she 
would  never  leave  him! — had  said  it  with  many  nevers. 
"And  she  ain't  ever  before  stayed  out  in  the  evenin'  like 
this,"  he  told  himself.  No,  not  in  all  the  years  he  had 
been  at  the  Barber  flat. 

However,  he  felt  no  resentment  toward  her  for  going. 
How  could  he?  Now  that  she  was  away,  she  seemed  un- 
speakably dear,  faultlessly  perfect. 

But,  left  behind,  what  was  he?  what  did  he  have? 
what  would  become  of  him?  To  all  those  questions  there 
was  only  one  answer:  Nothing.  He  was  alone  with  a 
helpless,  childish,  old  man  and  that  other.  "And  I've  tried 
'n'  tried!"  he  protested  (he  meant  that  he  had  tried  to 
please  Barber,  tried  to  do  his  work  better,  tried  to  deserve 
more  consideration  from  the  longshoreman).  And  this 
was  what  had  come  of  all  his  striving :  Cis  had  been  driven 
away. 

"Oh,  nothin'  worse  can  happen  t'  me !"  he  declared  des- 
pairingly. "Nothin'!  nothin'!"  What  a  staff  she  had 
always  been,  and  how  much  he  had  leaned  upon  that  staff, 
he  did  not  suspect  till  now,  when  it  was  wrenched  from 
under  his  hand.  He  had  a  fuller  understanding,  too,  of 
what  a  comfort  she  had  steadily  been — she,  the  only  bright 
and  beautiful  thing  in  the  dark,  poor  flat !  And  to  think 
that,  boylike,  he  had  ever  shrunk  out  from  under  her  car- 


LEFT   BEHIND  375 

essing  fingers,  or  fled  from  her  proffered  kiss!  O  his 
darling  comrade  and  friend !  O  little  mother  and  sister  in 
one! 

"Cis!"  he  faltered.     "Cis!" 

An  almost  intolerable  sense  of  loss  swept  him,  like  a 
wave  brimming  the  cup  of  his  grief.  His  forehead  seemed 
to  be  bulging,  as  if  it  would  burst.  His  heart  was  burst- 
ing, too.  And  something  was  tearing,  clawlike,  at  his 
throat  and  at  his  vitals.  Just  where  the  lower  end  of  his 
breastbone  left  off  was  the  old,  awful,  aching,  gnawing, 
"gone"  feeling.  Much  in  his  short  life  he  had  found  hard 
to  bear ;  but  never  anything  so  appalling  as  this  !  If  only 
he  might  cry  a  little ! 

"Sir  Gawain,  he  c-cried,"  he  remembered,  "when  he  found 
out  he  was  f-fightin'  his  own  b-brother.  And  Sir  G-Gareth, 
he  c-cried  too."  Also,  no  law  of  the  twelve  in  the  Hand- 
book forbade  a  scout  to  weep. 

His  eyes  closed,  his  mouth  lengthened  out  pathetically, 
his  cheeks  puckered,  his  chin  drew  up  grotesquely,  trem- 
bling as  if  tortured ;  then  he  bent  his  head  and  began  to 
sob,  terribly,  yet  silently,  for  he  feared  to  waken  Grandpa. 
Down  his  hurt  face  streamed  the  tears,  to  fall  on  the  big, 
old  shirt,  and  on  his  feet,  while  he  leaned  against  the  door- 
jamb,  a  drooping,  shaking,  broken-hearted  little  figure. 

"Oh,  I  can't  git  along  without  her !"  he  whispered.  "I 
can't  stand  it !  Oh,  I  want  her  back !  I  want  her  back !" 

When  he  had  cried  away  the  sharp  edge  of  his  grief,  a 
deliciously  sad  mood  came  over  him.  In  The  Legends  of 
King  Arthur,  more  than  one  grieving  person  had  suc- 
cumbed to  sorrow.  He  wondered  if  he  would  die  of  his ; 
and  he  saw  himself  laid  out,  stricken,  on  a  barge,  attended 
by  three  Queens,  who  were  putting  to  sea  to  take  him  to 
the  Vale  of  Avilion. 

The  picture  brought  him  peace. 

There  followed  one  of  his  thinks.    He  brought  Cis  beck 


376         THE   RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

into  the  little  room,  seated  her  on  her  narrow  bed,  with' 
her  slender  shoulders  leaned  against  the  excelsior  pillow 
which  once  she  had  prized.  In  her  best  dress,  which  was 
white,  she  showed  ghostily  among  the  shadows.  But  he 
could  see  her  violet  eyes  clearly,  and  the  look  in  them  was 
tender  and  loving. 

He  held  out  his  arms  to  her. 

Somewhere,  far  off,  a  bell  rang.  It  was  like  a  summons. 
The  wraith  of  his  own  making  vanished.  He  wiped  his 
eyes,  now  with  one  fringed  sleeve,  now  with  the  other, 
stooped  and  felt  round  just  inside  the  little  room  for  his 
scrap  of  mattress  and  the  quilt,  took  them  up,  softly 
shut  the  door,  and  turned  about. 

That  same  moment  the  hall  door  began  slowly  to  open, 
propelled  from  without  by  an  unseen  hand.  "St!"  came 
a  low  warning.  Next,  a  dim  hand  showed  itself,  reaching 
in  at  the  floor  level  with  a  large  yellow  bowl.  It  placed 
the  bowl  to  one  side,  disappeared,  returned  again  at  once 
with  a  goodish  chunk  of  schwarzbrod,  laid  the  bread  beside 
the  bowl,  traveled  up  to  the  outside  knob,  and  drew  the 
door  to. 

He  knew  that  the  dim  hand  was  plump  and  brown,  and 
that  it  belonged  to  the  little  Jewish  lady,  who  never  yet 
had  been  forgetful  of  him,  who  was  always  prompt  with 
motherly  help.  He  knew  that;  and  yet,  as  he  watched  it 
all,  there  was  something  of  a  sweet  mystery  about  it,  and 
he  was  reminded  of  that  wonderful  arm,  clothed  in  white 
samite,  which  had  come  thrusting  up  out  of  the  lake  to 
give  the  sword  Excalibur  to  great  King  Arthur. 

He  did  not  go  to  get  what  had  been  left  (noodles,  he 
guessed,  tastily  thickening  a  broth) .  Grandpa  was  already 
fed  for  the  night,  and  asleep  in  the  wheel  chair,  where 
Johnnie  intended  to  leave  him,  not  liking  to  rap  on  the 
bedroom  door  and  disturb  Big  Tom.  As  for  his  own 
appetite,  it  seemed  to  have  deserted  him  forever. 


LEFT   BEHIND  377 

Noiselessly  he  put  down  his  bedding  beside  the  table. 
And  it  was  then  that  he  made  out,  by  the  faint  light  coming 
in  at  the  window,  the  two  dolls,  Letitia  and  Edwarda,  hud- 
dled together  on  the  oilcloth.  Letitia,  small,  old,  worn 
out  in  long  service  to  her  departed  mistress,  had  one  saw- 
dust arm  thrown  across  Edwarda.  And  Edwarda,  proud 
though  she  was,  and  beautiful  in  her  silks  and  laces,  had 
a  smooth,  round,  artfully  jointed  arm  thrown  across 
Letitia.  It  was  as  if  each  was  comforting  the  other! 

Johnnie  picked  up  the  old  doll.  Somehow  she  seemed 
closer  and  dearer  to  him  than  the  new  one.  Perhaps — who 
knew? — she,  also,  was  mourning  the  absent  beloved.  (If 
there  was  any  feeling  in  her,  she  had  been  inconsolable  this 
long  time,  what  with  being  cast  aside  for  a  grander  rival.) 
"Well,  Letitia,"  he  whispered,  "here  we  are,  you  and — and 
me!"  * 

It  was  growing  dark  in  the  kitchen.  Besides,  no  one  was 
there  to  mark  his  weakness  and  taunt  him  with  it.  He 
put  his  face  against  faithful  Letitia's  faded  dress — that 
dress  which  Cis  herself  had  made,  pricking  her  pink  fingers 
scandalously  in  the  process,  and  had  washed  and  ironed 
season  after  season.  That  was  it !  He  loved  the  old  doll 
the  better  because  she  was  a  part  of  Cis. 

"Oh,  dear  Letitia!"  he  whispered  again,  and  strained 
the  doll  to  his  heart. 

Then  he  took  up  Edwarda,  who  opened  her  eyes  with  a 
sharp  click.  Edwarda,  favorite  of  her  young  owner, 
smelled  adorably — like  the  tiny  room,  like  the  birthday 
roses,  like  apples.  And  her  dainty  presence,  exhaling  the 
familiar  scent  of  the  dressing-table  box,  brought  Cis  even 
nearer  to  him  than  had  Letitia.  With  a  choking  exclama- 
tion, he  caught  the  new  doll  to  him  along  with  the  old,  and 
held  both  tight. 

Then  dropping  to  the  mattress,  he  laid  the  pair  side  by 
side  before  crumpling  down  with  them,  digging  his  nose 


378          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

into  one  of  Edwarda's  fragrant  sleeves.  The  instant  her 
head  struck  the  bed,  Edwarda  had  clicked  her  eyes  shut, 
as  if  quite  indifferent  to  all  that  had  happened  that  day 
(not  to  speak  of  the  previous  night),  and  had  fallen  asleep 
like  a  shot.  Not  so  the  sterling  Letitia,  who  lay  staring, 
open-eyed,  at  the  ceiling. 

But  Johnnie,  worn  with  emotion,  weak  from  yesterday's 
whipping,  sick  and  weary  from  last  night's  long  hours 
across  the  table  edge,  sank  into  a  deep  and  merciful  and 
repairing  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 
UPS  AND  DOWNS 

HE  awoke  a  changed  boy.  How  it  had  come  about, 
or  why,  he  did  not  try  to  reason ;  but  on  opening 
his  gray  eyes  at  dawn,  he  felt  distinctly  two 
astonishing  differences  in  himself:  first,  his  sorrow  over 
Cis's  going  seemed  entirely  spent,  as  if  it  had  taken  leave 
of  him  some  time  in  the  night ;  second,  and  more  curious 
than  the  other,  along  with  that  sorrow  had  evidently  de- 
parted all  of  his  old  fear  of  Big  Tom ! 

The  fact  that  Johnnie  no  longer  stood  in  dread  of 
Barber  was,  doubtless,  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had  seen 
the  giant  outmatched  and  brought  to  terms.  He  hateB 
him  still  (perhaps  even  more  than  ever)  ;  yet  holding  him 
in  contempt,  did  not  indulge  in  a  single  revenge  think.  He 
understood  that,  with  Cis  away,  the  longshoreman  needed 
him  as  he  had  never  needed  him  before.  So  Barber  would 
not  dare  to  be  ugly  or  cruel  again,  lest  he  lose  Johnnie  too. 
"If  I  followed  Cis  where'd  he  be?"  the  boy  asked  himself. 
"Huh!  He  better  be  careful!" 

As  to  Cis,  now  that  he  had  had  a  good  rest,  it  was 
easy  for  him  to  see  that  this  change  which  had  come  into 
her  life  was  a  thing  to  be  grateful  for,  not  a  matter  to 
be  mourned  about.  After  her  trouble  with  Barber,  she 
could  not  stay  on  in  the  flat  and  be  happy.  Granting  this, 
how  fortunate  it  was  that  she  could  at  once  marry  the  man 
she  loved.  (And  what  a  man!) 

He  saw  her  in  that  splendid,  imaginary  apartment  in 

379 


380         THE   RICH   LITTLE   POOR   BOY 

which  he  had  long  ago  installed  Mr.  Perkins.  And  was 
he,  John  Blake,  wishing  that  she  would  stay  in  a  tiny, 
if  beautiful,  room  without  a  window? 

"Aw,  shucks,  no !"  he  cried.  "I  don't  want  y'  back !  I 
miss  y',  but  Pm  awful  glad  y'r  gone!  And  I  don't  mind 
bein'  left  here." 

He  felt  hopeful,  ambitious,  independent. 

He  rose  with  a  will.  He  was  stiff,  just  at  first,  but 
strong  and  steady  on  his  feet.  As  in  the  past  he  had  never 
made  a  habit  of  pitying  himself,  he  did  not  pity  himself 
now,  but  took  his  aches  and  pains  as  he  had  taken  them 
many  a  time  before,  that  is,  by  dismissing  them  from  his 
mind.  He  was  hungry.  He  was  eager  for  his  daily  wash. 
He  wanted  to  get  at  his  morning  exercises,  and  take  with 
them  a  whiff  of  the  outdoors  coming  in  at  the  window. 
By  f .  glance  at  his  patch  of  sky  he  could  tell  that  this 
whiff  would  be  pleasant.  For  how  clear  and  blue  was 
that  bit  of  Heaven  which  he  counted  as  a  personal  belong- 
ing! And  just  across  the  area  the  sun  was  already  begin- 
ning to  wash  all  the  roofs  with  its  aureate  light. 

Three  sparrows  hailed  him  from  the  window  ledge,  shril- 
ly demanding  crumbs.  Crumbs  made  him  think  of  Mrs. 
Kukor's  stealthy  gift.  Sure  enough,  the  yellow  bowl  held 
soup.  In  the  soup  was  spaghetti — the  wide,  ribbony,  slip- 
pery kind  he  especially  liked,  coiled  about  in  a  broth  which 
smelled  deliciously  of  garlic.  As  for  the  black  bread, 
some  nibbling  visitor  of  the  night  had  helped  himself  to 
one  corner  of  it,  and  this  corner,  therefore,  went  at  once 
to  the  birds. 

"My  goodness !"  soliloquized  Johnnie.  "How  the  mice 
do  love  Mrs.  Kukor's  bread!"  And  he  could  not  blame 
them.  It  was  so  good ! 

Then,  a  trifle  startled,  he  noted  that  the  wheel  chair 
was  not  in  the  kitchen ;  but  guessed  at  once  that  Barber  had 
quietly  rolled  Grandpa  into  the  bedroom  at  a  late  hour. 


UPS  AND  DOWNS  381 

Next,  his  roving  glance  dropped  back  to  the  old  mattress, 
and  he  caught  sight  of  the  dolls.  Forgetting  what  a  com- 
fort they  had  been  to  him  the  evening  before,  this  while 
feeling  boyishly  ashamed  and  foolish  at  having  had  them 
with  him,  in  a  panic  he  caught  them  up  and  flung  them, 
willy-nilly,  out  of  sight  upon  Cis's  couch ;  after  which,  look- 
ing sheepish,  and  wondering  if  Big  Tom  had,  by  any 
chance,  seen  them,  he  put  away  his  bedding,  filled  the  tea- 
kettle, and  reached  down  the  package  of  oatmeal. 

It  was  not  till  he  started  to  build  a  fire  that  he  remem- 
bered! In  the  fire  box  still  was  all  that  remained  of  his 
uniform,  his  books,  and  the  Carnegie  medal.  He  lifted  a 
stove  lid;  then  as  a  mourner  looks  down  into  a  grave 
that  has  received  a  dear  one,  so,  for  a  long,  sad  moment, 
he  gazed  into  the  ashes.  "Oh,  my  stories !"  he  faltered. 
"Oh,  my  peachy  suit  o'  clothes!" 

But  it  was  the  medal  he  hunted.  On  pressing  the  ashes 
through  into  the  ash-box,  something  fell  with  a  clear 
tinkle,  and  he  dug  round  till  he  found  a  burned  and  black- 
ened disk.  Fire  had  harmed  it  woefully.  That  side  bear- 
ing the  face  of  its  donor  was  roughened  and  scarred,  so 
that  no  likeness  of  Mr.  Carnegie  survived ;  but  on  the 
other  side,  near  to  the  rim,  several  words  still  stood  out 
clearly — that  a  man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends. 

After  more  poking  around  he  found  all  the  metal  but- 
tons off  the  uniform,  each  showing  the  scout  device,  for, 
being  small,  the  buttons  had  dropped  into  the  ashes  di- 
rectly their  hold  upon  the  cloth  was  loosened  by  the  flames, 
and  so  escaped  serious  damage.  Also,  following  a  more 
careful  search,  he  discovered — the  tooth. 

The  clock  alarm  rang,  and  he  surmised  that  Big  Tom 
had  wound  it  when  he  came  out  for  Grandpa. 

"John!" 

Somehow  that  splintered  bit  of  Barber's  tusk  made 
Johnnie  feel  more  independent  than  ever.  With  it  between 


382          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

a  thumb  and  finger,  he  dared  be  so  indifferent  to  the  sum- 
mons that  he  did  not  reply  at  once.  Instead,  he  took  the 
buttons  to  the  sink  and  rinsed  them ;  rinsed  the  tooth,  too. 
Then  he  put  the  medal  into  the  shallow  dish  holding  the 
dead  rose  leaves,  filled  a  cracked  coffee  cup  with  the  but- 
tons, and  tossed  the  tooth  into  the  drawer  of  the  kitchen 
table. 

"John !" — an  anxious  John  this  time,  as  if  the  longshore- 
man half  feared  the  boy  was  gone. 

"I'm  up." 

"Wish  y'd  come  here." 

Johnnie  smiled  grimly  as  he  went;.  That  "wish"  was 
new!  Always  heretofore  it  had  been  "You  do  this"  and 
"You  do  that."  Evidently  something  of  a  change  had 
also  been  wrought  in  Big  Tom!  The  bedroom  door  was 
ajaf  an  inch  or  two.  Through  the  narrow  crack  Johnnie 
glimpsed  Grandpa,  in  his  chair,  ready  to  be  trundled  out. 
But  Barber  was  lying  down,  his  face  half  turned  away. 

"Wheel  the  old  man  into  the  kitchen,"  said  the  latter 
as  he  heard  Johnnie.  He  spoke  with  a  lisp  (that  tooth!), 
and  his  voice  sounded  weak.  "And  then  bring  me  somethin' 
t»  eat,  will  y»?" 

Having  said  Yes  without  a  Sir,  Johnnie  wagged  his 
head  philosophically,  the  while  he  steered  the  chair  skil- 
fully across  the  sill.  "Plenty  o'  good  turns  t'  do  now," 
he  told  himself;  "and  all  o'  'em  for  Tiim!" 

But — a  scout  is  faithful.  He  built  the  fire  and  cooked 
a  tasty  meal — toast,  with  the  grease  of  bacon  trimmings 
soaking  it,  coffee,  and  rolled  oats — and  placed  it  on  Grand- 
pa's bed,  handy  to  the  longshoreman.  Then  he  shut  the 
bedroom  door  smartly,  as  a  signal  that  Big  Tom  was  to 
have  privacy,  and  returned  to  his  own  program. 

He  scampered  downstairs  for  Grandpa's  milk  and  his 
own,  taking  time  to  exchange  a  grin  with  the  janitress,  to 
whom  Barber's  defeat  of  yesterday  was  no  grief.  Then 


UPS  AND  DOWNS  383 

back  he  raced,  washed,  combed  and  fed  the  little,  old  sol- 
dier, helping  him  to  think  the  gruel  a  "swell  puddin',"  and 
the  service  Buckle's  best.  After  that  there  was  a  short 
trip  to  Madison  Square  Garden  where,  despite  all  facts 
to  the  contrary,  a  colossal  circus  had  moved  in.  Johnnie 
summoned  lions  before  the  wheel  chair,  and  tigers,  camels, 
Arab  steeds  and  elephants,  Cis's  room  serving  admirably 
as  the  cage  which  contained  these  various  quadrupeds. 
'And,  naturally,  there  was  a  deal  of  growling  and  roaring 
and  kicking  and  neighing,  while  the  camels  barked  sur- 
prisingly like  Boof,  and  the  elephants  conversed  with  some- 
thing of  a  Hebrew  accent.  All  of  which  greatly  delighted 
Grandpa,  and  he  cackled  till  his  scraggly  beard  was  damp 
with  happy  tears. 

When  he  was  asleep  there  was  sweeping  to  do  (with^vet, 
scattered  tea  leaves,  and  a  broom  drenched  frequently  at 
Niagara  Falls,  all  this  to  help  keep  down  the  dust).  A 
few  dishes  of  massy  gold  needed  washing,  too.  The  stove 
— that  iron  urn  holding  precious  dust — called  for  the  pol- 
ishing rag.  Of  all  these  duties  Johnnie  made  quick  work. 

Then,  without  a  thought  that  Big  Tom  might  come 
forth,  see,  and  seeing,  disapprove,  Johnnie  switched  to 
the  floor  that  square  of  oilcloth  which  so  often  covered  the 
Table  Round,  rolled  the  wash-tub  into  place  at  the  cloth's 
center,  and  partly  filled  it.  At  once  there  followed  such 
a  soaping  and  scrubbing,  such  a  splashing  and  rinsing! 
Whenever  the  cold  water  struck  a  sore  spot  there  were 
gasps  and  ouches. 

A  close  attention  to  details  was  not  lacking.  Ears 
were  not  forgotten,  nor  the  areas  behind  them;  nor  wa? 
the  neck  (all  the  way  around)  ;  nor  were  such  soil-gather- 
ing spots  as  knee-knobs  and  elbow-points ;  nor  even  thfc 
black-and-blue  streaks  across  an  earnest  face.  And  pres- 
ently, the  drjing  process  over,  and  Cis'§  old  toothbrush 


384          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

laid  away,  a  pink  and  glowing  body  was  bending  and 
twisting  close  to  the  window,  and  shooting  out  its  limbs. 

When  Johnnie  was  dressed,  and  stood,  clean  and  combed 
and  straight  on  his  pins,  his  chest  heaving  as  he  glanced 
around  a  kitchen  which  was  shipshape,  and  upon  his  aged 
friend,  who  was  as  presentable  as  possible,  it  occurred  to 
him  that  when  a  caller  happened  in  this  morning — Mrs. 
Kukor,  Father  Pat,  or  Cis;  or  when  he,  himself,  fetched 
King  Arthur,  or  Mr.  Roosevelt,  or  Robinson  Crusoe,  no 
excuses  of  any  kind  would  have  to  be  made.  He  and  his 
house  were  in  order. 

Mrs.  Kukor.  So  far  he  had  not  noticed  a  sound  from 
overhead.  When  the  brown  shoes  were  on,  he  rapped  an 
I'm-coming-up  signal  on  the  sink  pipe.  There  was  no 
ans^r.  He  rapped  it  again,  and  louder,  watching  the 
clock  this  time,  in  order  to  give  the  little  Jewish  lady  a 
full  minute  to  rise  from  her  rocking  chair.  But  she  did 
not  rise ;  and  no  steps  went  doll-walking  across  the  ceiling. 
At  this  early  hour  could  Mrs.  Kukor  be  out?  He  went  up. 

Another  surprise.  Another  change.  Another  blow.  At 
her  door  was  her  morning  paper,  with  its  queer  lettering ; 
on  the  door,  pinned  low,  was  what  looked  like  a  note.  Feel- 
ing sure  that  it  had  been  left  for  him,  Johnnie  carried  it 
half-way  to  the  roof  to  get  a  light  on  its  message,  which 
was  sorry  news  indeed: 

Der  Jony  my  rebeka  has  so  bad  sickmis  i  needs  to  go  by 
hir  love  Leah  Kukor. 

He  was  so  pained  by  the  explanation,  so  saddened  to 
learn  that  his  devoted  friend  would  be  gone  all  day,  that  he 
descended  absentmindedly  to  the  flat  directly  below  Bar- 
ber's, where  he  walked  in  unceremoniously  upon  nine  Ita- 
lians of  assorted  sizes — the  Fossis,  all  swarmed  about  their 
breakfast  in  a  smoke-filled  room. 

With  a  hasty  excuse,  he  darted  out ;  then,  his  heart  as 
lead,  climbed  home.  Poor  Mrs.  Kukor!  Poor  daughter 


UPS  AND  DOWNS  385 

Rebecca !  Poor  baby,  whose  mamma  had  a  "bad  sicknus  !" 
And,  yes,  poor  husband,  Mr.  Reisenberger ! — even  though 
he  was  "awful  rich." 

The  broom  had  swept  from  under  the  stove  those  lengths 
of  clothesline.  With  more  philosophical  wags  of  the  head, 
Johnnie  fastened  them  end  to  end  with  weaver's  knots,  and 
rehung  the  rope,  knowing  as  he  worked  that  he  could  never 
again  bear  to  telephone  along  that  mended  line. 

"Gee!    Barber  spoils  everything!"  he  declared. 

After  the  rope  was  up  he  felt  weak.  He  sat  down  at 
the  table,  thin  legs  curled  round  the  rungs  of  the  kitcnen 
chair,  clean  elbows  on  the  restored  oilcloth,  a  big  fist  prop- 
ping each  cheek;  and  presently  found  himself  listening, 
waiting,  his  eyes  on  the  hall  door.  At  every  noise,  he  gave 
a  start,  and  hope  added  its  shine  to  that  other  shine  which 
soap  had  left  on  his  face.  « 

And  so  the  long  morning  passed.  Shortly  after  noon, 
he  carried  dinner  in  to  Big  Tom,  and  took  away  the  break- 
fast dishes.  Grandpa  went  as  far  as  the  door  with  him, 
and  opened  grave,  baby  eyes  at  sight  of  his  prostrate  son. 
"Oh,  Tommie  sick!"  he  whispered,  frightened.  "Poor 
Tommie  sick!" 

"Shut  up!"  growled  "poor  Tommie,"  roughly,  and 
Grandpa  backed  off  quickly,  with  soft  tap-taps. 

"Maybe  y'  better  have  a  doctor,"  essayed  Johnnie, 
practically,  and  as  calmly  as  he  might  have  said  it  to  Cis. 

"You  mind  your  business." 

The  afternoon  was  longer  than  the  morning.  Johnnie 
sat  at  the  table  again.  His  face  was  hot,  and  he  kept  a 
dipper  of  water  in  front  of  him  so  that  he  could  take 
frequent  draughts.  Sometimes  he  watched  his  patch  of 
sky ;  sometimes  he  shut  his  eyes  and  read  from  the  burned 
books,  or  looked  at  their  pictures ;  now  and  then  he  slept 
— a  few  minutes  at  a  time — his  head  on  his  arms. 

Toward  evening,  though  rested  physically,  he  found  his 


386          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

spirits  again  drooping.  Bravely  as  he  had  started  the 
day,  its  hours  of  futile  waiting  had  tried  him.  (Could  it 
be  possible  that  grief  was  a  matter  of  the  clock?)  As 
twilight  once  more  moved  upon  the  city  it  brought  with  it 
the  misery,  the  loneliness  and  the  pain  which  had  been  his 
just  twenty-four  hours  before.  Oh,  where,  he  asked  him- 
self, was  the  light  step,  the  tender  voice,  the  helpful  hand 
of  her  who  had  hurried  home  to  him  every  nightfall  of  the 
past  ? 

He  understood  then  what  a  difference  there  could  be 
between  bodily  suffering  and  mental  suffering.  His  whip- 
ping, severe  as  it  had  been,  was  over  and  done,  and  all  but 
forgotten.  But  this  sorrow — !  "Gee !"  he  breathed,  marv- 
eling; "how  it  sticks!" 

No  ;  he  had  not  realized  when  Cis  left  how  hard  it  would 
be  t£  stay  on  at  the  flat  without  her.  And  ahead  of  him 
were  how  many  days  like  this  one?  He  seemed  there  to 
stay  for  a  time  that  was  all  but  forever ! 

That  night  it  was  Boof  who  shared  the  mattress  with 
him.  He  whispered  to  the  dog  for  a  long  while,  recounting 
his  troubles.  Afterward,  he  said  over  the  tenth  law,  that 
one  having  to  do  with  bravery.  "Defeat  does  not  down 
him"  the  Handbook  had  said ;  and  he  was  not  downed.  He 
thought  of  every  valiant  soul  he  knew — Aladdin,  Heywood, 
Uncas,  Jim  Hawkins,  Lancelot,  Crusoe.  He  fought  the 
tears.  But  he  felt  utterly  stricken,  wholly  deserted. 

— By  all  save  Polaris,  now  risen  above  the  roofs.  "Oh, 
you  can  see  ev'rything!"  Johnnie  said  to  the  star,  envious- 
ly. "So,  please,  where  is  Father  Pat?" 

But  Polaris  only  stared  back  at  him.  Bright  and  hard, 
calm  and  unchanging,  what  difference  did  it  make  to  so 
proud  a  beacon — the  woe  of  one  small  boy? 

Joy  cometh  with  the  morning.  This  time  Joy  wore  the 
(disguise  of  a  cowboy  who  had  a  black  eye,  a  bag  of  apples, 


UPS  AND  DOWNS  387 

a  newspaper,  and  two  cigars.  Also  he  carried  a  couple 
of  businesslike  packages,  large  ones,  well  wrapped  in  thick 
brown  paper  and  wound  with  heavy  string. 

The  excitement  and  happiness  that  One-Eye  roused 
when  he  shuffled  in  came  very  nearly  being  the  end  of 
Johnnie,  who  could  not  believe  his  own  eyes,  but  had  to 
take  hold  of  a  shaggy  trouser  leg  in  order  to  convince 
himself  that  this  was  a  real  visitor  and  not  just  a  think. 

The  Westerner  appeared  to  have  changed  his  mind  about 
Big  Tom  in  much  the  same  way  that  Johnnie  had  changed 
his  (and,  doubtless,  for  the  same  reason).  Dropping  all 
of  his  packages,  and  fishing  the  cigars  from  a  top  vest- 
pocket,  he  stalked  boldly  into  the  bedroom.  "Say!"  he 
began,  "here's  a  couple  o'  flora  dee  rope.  Smoke  you* 
blamed  haid  off!"  Then,  as  Barber,  grunting,  reached 
a  grateful  hand  for  the  gift,  "An',  say!  I've  brur^  the 
kid  some  more  of  all  what  y'  burned  up.  So  tell  me — right 
now — if  y'  got  any  objections." 

"No-o-o-o !" — crossly. 

"If  y'  have,  spit  'em  out!" 

"Gimme  a  match !" 

It  was  a  victory! 

"That  feller's  lost  his  face!"  One-Eye  confided  to 
Johnnie  when  the  bedroom  door  was  shut.  He  winked 
emphatically  with  that  darkly  colored  good  eye. 

"L — lost  his  face?"  cried  Johnnie,  aghast.  "What  y' 
mean,  One-Eye?  But  he  had  it  this  mornin'!  I  saw  it!" 

"Aw,  y'  little  jay-hawk!"  returned  the  cowboy,  fondly. 

Then,  excitement !  In  a  short  space  of  time  which  the 
Westerner  described  as  "two  shakes  o'  a  lamb's  tail," 
Johnnie  was  garbed  from  hat  to  leggings  in  a  brand-new 
scout  uniform,  and  was  gloating  and  gurgling  over  another 
Robinson  Crusoe,  another  Treasure  Island,  another  Last 
of  the  Mohicans,  another  Legends  of  King  Arthur,  and 
another  Aladdin.  Each  had  tinted  illustrations.  Each 


388          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

was  stiff  with  newness,  and  sweet  to  the  smell.  "And  the 
sky-book,  'r  whatever  y'  call  it,  and  the  scout-book,  w'y, 
they'll  come  t'morra,  'r  the  day  after,  I  don't  know  which. 
—Wai,  what  d'  y'  say?" 

"I  say  'Thanks' — with  all  of  me!"  Johnnie  answered, 
trembling  with  earnestness.  They  shook  hands  solemnly. 

"Oh,  our  books !"  cried  Grandpa.  "Our  nice,  little  sol- 
dier!" To  him,  the  cowboy's  presents  were  those  which 
had  gone  into  the  stove. 

There  was  something  in  that  newspaper  for  Johnnie  to 
read.  It  was  a  short  announcement.  This  had  in  it  no 
element  of  surprise  for  him,  since  it  told  him  nothing  he 
did  not  already  know.  Nevertheless,  it  took  his  breath 
away.  In  a  column  headed  "Marriages"  were  two  lines 
which  read,  "Perkins-Way:  April  18,  Algernon  Godfrey 
Perkif^s  to  Narcissa  Amy  Way" 

"It's  so!"  murmured  Johnnie,  awed.  "They're  both 
married!"  Seeing  it  in  print  like  that,  the  truth  was 
clinched,  being  given,  not  only  a  certainty,  but  a  dignity 
and  a  finality  only  to  be  conveyed  by  type.  "One-Eye, 
it's  so!" 

One-Eye  'lowed  it  was. 

"And,  my  goodness!"  Johnnie  added.  "Think  o'  Cis 
havin'  her  name  in  the  paper !" 

They  sat  for  a  while  without  speaking.  Grandpa,  hav- 
ing been  generously  supplied  by  the  cowboy  with  scraped 
apple,  slept  as  sleeps  a  fed  baby.  Johnnie  stacked  and  re- 
stacked  his  five  books,  caressing  them,  drawing  in  the 
fragrance  of  their  leaves.  One-Eye  studied  the  floor  and 
jiggled  a  foot. 

"Sonny,"  he  said  presently  (it  was  plain  that  he  had 
something  on  his  mind) ;  "y*  won't  feel  too  down-in-the- 
mouth  if  I  tell  y' — tell  y' — er — aw — "  The  spurred  foot 
stopped  jiggling. 

"What?    Oh,  One-Eye,  y're  not  goin'  away  right  off?" 


UPS  AND  DOWNS  389 

"T'night." 

"Oh!" 

"But,  shucks,  I'll  be  sailin'  back  East  again  in  no  time ! 
These  Noo  York  big-bugs  is  jes'  yelpin'  constant  fer  my 
polo  ponies." 

"I'm  glad."  But  there  was  a  shadow  now  upon  a  coun- 
tenance which  a  moment  before  had  been  beaming.  Things 
were  going  wrong  with  him — everything — all  at  once.  It 
was  almost  as  if  some  malign  genie  were  working  against 
him.  "Mrs.  Kukor's  away,  too,"  he  said.  "And  with  Cis 
gone — "  He  swallowed  hard. 

One-Eye  began  to  talk  in  a  husky  monotone,  as  if  to 
himself.  "They's  nobody  else  jes'  like  her,"  he  declared; 
"that's  a  cinch !  She's  shore  the  kind  that  comes  one  in  a 
box !  Whenever  I'd  look  at  her,  I'd  allus  think  o'  a  angel, 
'r  a  bird,  'r  a  little,  bobbin'  rose."  He  sighed,  uncrossed 
his  shaggy  knees,  crossed  them  the  other  way,  shiffed  his 
quid  of  tobacco  to  the  opposite  cheek,  and  pulled  down  the 
brim  of  the  wide  hat  till  it  touched  his  leathery  nose.  "SucH 
a  slim,  little  figger!"  he  added.  "Such  a  pert,  little  haid! 
And — and  a  cute  face!  And  she  was  white!  Plumb 
white!" 

Johnnie,  as  he  listened,  understood  that  the  cowboy  was 
talking  of  Cis — no  one  else.  He  was  not  mourning  his  own 
departure,  nor  regretting  the  fact  that  a  small,  lonely  boy 
was  to  be  left  behind.  Which  gave  that  boy  such  a  pang 
of  jealousy  as  helped  him  considerably  to  bear  this  new 
blow. 

"Wai,"  went  on  One-Eye,  philosophically,  "I  never  was 
a  lucky  cuss.  If  the  sky  was  t'  rain  down  green  turtle 
soup,  yours  truly  'd  find  himself  with  jes'  a  fork  in  his 
pocket." 

What  was  the  cowboy  hinting?  How  had  luck  gone 
against  him,  who  was  grown-up,  and  rich,  and  free  to 


390          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

travel  whither  he  desired?     And,  above  all,  what  connec- 
tion was  there  between  Cis  and  green  turtle  soup? 

Johnnie  could  not  figure  it  out.  With  all  his  power  of 
imagination,  there  was  one  thing  he  never  did  understand 
— the  truth  concerning  One-Eye's  feeling  toward  a  cer- 
tain young  lady. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

ANOTHER    GOOD-BY 

JOHNNIE  could  hear  a  fumbling  outside  in  the  hall, 
as  if  some  one  was  going  slowly  to  and  fro,  brushing 
a  wall  with  gentle,  uncertain  hands.  Cautiously  he 
tiptoed  to  his  own  door  and  listened,  his  heart  beating  a 
little  faster  than  the  occasion  warranted,  this  because  he 
had  just  been  scooting  about  the  deck  of  the  Hispaniola 
again  with  Jim  Hawkins,  eluding  that  terrible  Mr.  Hands ; 
and  he  was  still  more  or  less  close  in  to  the  shore  of 
Treasure  Island,  rather  than  in  New  York  City^  and 
hardly  able  to  realize  that  in  the  gloomy,  old  kitchen  he 
was  reasonably  safe  from  a  pirate's  knife. 

The  noise  in  the  hall  traveled  away  from  the  Barber 
door  to  another  on  the  same  floor.  Johnnie  concluded  that 
the  Italian  janitress  was  giving  the  dark  passage  its  annual 
scrub.  As  he  had  no  wish  to  exchange  words  with  her, 
much  preferring  the  society  of  the  rash,  but  plucky,  Jim, 
he  stole  back  to  the  table,  and  once  more  projected  himself 
half  the  world  away. 

Three  days  had  passed  since  One-Eye's  departure. 
They  had  been  quiet  days.  Mrs.  Kukor  was  still  gone. 
Big  Tom  ventured  forth  from  his  self-imposed  imprison- 
ment only  late  at  night.  Cis  and  Mr.  Perkins,  save  for 
a  cheery  greeting  scribbled  on  a  post  card  that  pictured 
the  Capitol  at  Washington,  seemed  utterly  to  have  cut 
themselves  off  from  the  flat.  As  for  Father  Pat,  of 
course  he  had  not  forgotten  Johnnie,  not  forsaken  a 
friend;  nevertheless,  there  had  been  no  sign  of  him. 

391 


392          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

But  having  again  his  seven  beloved  books  (the  two 
extra  ones  had  arrived  by  parcel  post),  Johnnie  had  not 
fretted  once.  What  time  had  he  for  fretting?  He  was 
either  working — cooking,  washing,  ironing,  cleaning,  wait- 
ing on  the  longshoreman  or  the  aged  soldier,  going  out 
grandly  in  his  scout  uniform  to  fetch  things  from  the  gro- 
cer's, smartening  Grandpa's  appearance  or  his  own — or 
else  he  was  reading.  And  when  he  was  reading,  his  world 
and  all  of  its  cares  dropped  magically  away  from  him,  and 
the  clock  hands  fairly  spun. 

One-Eye  bidden  a  brave  good-by,  one  of  Johnnie's  first 
jobs  had  been  the  rearrainging  of  Cis's  closet  room. 
Though  he  still  felt  that  he  could  not  take  over  for  his  own 
use  the  little  place  which  was  sacred  to  her,  nevertheless 
he  had  considered  it  a  fit  and  proper  spot  in  which  to 
enshrine  his  seven  volumes.  So  he  had  set  the  dressing-table 
box  back  against  the  wall,  straightened  its  flounces,  and 
placed  the  books  in  a  row  upon  this  attractive  bit  of  furni- 
ture, flanking  them  at  one  end  with  the  lamp,  at  the  other 
with  the  alarm  clock.  Then  he  named  the  tiny  room  the 
library. 

The  lamp  was  for  use  at  night,  so  that  he  could  prolong 
his  hours  of  study  and  enjoyment,  seated  on  his  mattress 
which,  folded  twice,  made  a  luxurious  seat  of  just  the  right 
height  to  command  a  good  view  of  Mr.  Roosevelt.  The 
clock,  on  the  other  hand,  was  for  daylight  use  only.  When 
he  was  seated  at  the  kitchen  table,  an  elbow  at  either  side 
of  a  book,  his  head  propped,  and  his  spirit  far  away,  the 
clock  (having  been  set  with  forethought,  but  wound  only 
one  turn)  sounded  a  soft,  short  tinkle  for  him,  calling  him 
from  Crusoe's  realm,  or  from  those  northern  forests 
through  which  he  followed  after  Heywood,  or  from  China, 
from  Treasure  Island,  from  Caerleon ;  and  warning  him  it 
was  time  to  prepare  Big  Tom  a  meal. 

The  fumbling  about  the  hall  door  began  again.     Next, 


ANOTHER  GOOD-BY  393 

the  knob  was  turned,  slowly  and  uncertainly,  as  if  by  a 
child.  Once  more  cutting  short  that  enthralling  hunt  for 
gold,  Johnnie  hurried  back  to  the  door  and  opened  it — and 
looked  into  the  beady,  bright  black  eyes  of  an  exceedingly 
old  lady. 

She  had  on  a  black  dress  which  was  evidently  as  old  as 
herself,  for  in  spots  it  was  the  same  rusty  color  as  the 
few  faded  hairs,  streaked  with  gray,  which  showed  from 
under  her  ancient  headshawl.  In  one  shaking  hand  she 
held  a  stout  cane ;  in  the  other,  a  slip  of  paper.  This  latter 
she  offered  him.  And  he  found  written  on  it  his  own  name 
and  Barber's,  also  brief  directions  for  locating  the  build- 
ing in  the  area. 

"What's  this  for?"  asked  Johnnie.  "What  d'  y'  want 
me  t'  do?  I  can't  give  y'  anything  'cept  a  cup  o'  tea. 
I'm  sorry,  but  I'm  broke."  « 

"Mm-mm-mm-mm,"  mumbled  the  old  lady;  then  showing 
a  double  line  of  gums  in  a  smile,  she  plucked  at  his  sleeve. 
"Father  Mmmmm  '"  she  said  again.  " Ah-ha  ?  ah-ha  ?  ah- 
ha?"  With  each  ah-a,  she  backed  a  step  invitingly,  and 
nodded  him  to  come  with  her. 

Father  Mungovan !  A  shiver  ran  all  down  him.  For 
instantly  he  knew  why  she  had  come.  Running  to  the 
stove,  he  wet  down  the  fire  with  some  hot  water  out  of 
the  teakettle,  put  away  his  book,  brought  out  his  own  quilt 
to  cover  Grandpa's  knees,  swiftly  laid  Big  Tom's  place  at 
the  table,  cut  some  bread,  made  the  tea,  then  knocked  on 
the  bedroom  door  to  explain  that  supper  was  ready  on 
the  oilcloth,  but  that  he  had  to  go  out. 

If  Barber  made  any  reply  or  objection  to  that,  Johnnie 
did  not  hear  it.  "Father  Mungovan's  sick?"  he  asked  the 
old  lady  as  he  followed  her,  a  step  at  a  time,  down  the 
three  flights. 

"Sick,"  she  assented,  nodding  the  shawled  head.  "Ah- 
ha!  ah-ha!  ah-ha!" 


394          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

She  hobbled,  and  even  on  the  level  sidewalk  her  pace 
was  slow.  He  tried  to  help  her,  but  she  would  not  have 
his  hand  under  her  elbow,  pulling  away  from  him,  mutter- 
ing, and  pointing  ahead  with  her  stick. 

"Where  d'  we  go  t'?"  he  asked,  for1  it  was  in  his  mind 
to  set  off  by  himself  at  a  run.  However,  he  could  not 
understand  what  she  replied;  and  soon  gave  up  trying, 
feeling  that,  after  all,  a  boy  who  intended  to  be  a  scout 
should  not  leave  such  a  weak,  aged  soul  behind,  all  alone, 
but  should  stay  to  help  her  over  the  crossings.  "I'm 
'xac'ly  like  that  picture  in  the  Handbook!"  he  reminded 
himself. 

But  it  was  little  assistance  the  old  lady  needed.  At 
every  crossing  she  went  stumping  boldly  forward,  her 
cane  high  in  the  air  and  shaken  threateningly,  while  she 
look<«  I  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  paying  no  attention 
to  on-coming  vehicles,  whether  these  were  street-cars,  mo- 
tors or  teams,  only  warning  each  and  all  with  a  piping 
"Ah-ha !  ah-ha !  ah-ha !" 

People  smiled  at  her.  They  smiled  also,  and  admiringly, 
at  the  freshly  uniformed,  blond-haired  boy  scout  striding 
beside  her,  whose  face,  by  the  fading  marks  upon  it,  indi- 
cated that  lately  he  had  accidentally  bumped  into  some- 
thing. 

But  Johnnie  saw  no  one,  so  completely  were  his  thoughts 
taken  up.  Of  course  Father  Pat  was  sick.  That  was  why 
he  had  not  been  back  to  the  flat.  Was  there,  the  boy 
wondered,  anything  a  scout  could  do  for  the  beloved 
priest?  Johnnie  thought  of  all  those  instructions  in  the 
Handbook  which  concerned  the  aiding  and  saving  of 
others.  "Oh,  I  want  t'  help  him!"  he  cried,  and  in  his 
eagerness  forged  ahead  of  the  old  lady,  whereupon  she 
poked  him  sharply  with  the  stick. 

"Slow!     Slow!"  she  ordered,  breathing  open-mouthed. 

The  distance  seemed  endless.     Johnnie  began  to  fear 


ANOTHER  GOOD-BY  395 

that  He  might  not  reach  the  Father  before  he  died.  "Oh, 
all  that  fightin*  was  bad  for  him!"  he  concluded  regret- 
fully. "That's  what's  the  matter!  It  wore  him  out!  I 
wish  Mrs.  Kukor  didn't  go  for  him !  But,  oh,  he  mustn't 
die!  He  mustn't!  He  mustn't!" 

And  yet  that  was  precisely  what  Father  Pat  was  about 
to  do.  When  Johnnie  had  climbed  the  steps  of  a  brown- 
stone  house  and  been  admitted  by  a  strange  priest;  and 
between  long  portieres  had  entered  a  high,  dim  room  where 
there  was  a  wide,  white  bed,  he  realized  the  worst  at  once. 
For  even  to  young  eyes  that  had  never  before  looked  upon 
death,  it  was  plain  that  a  great,  a  solemn,  and  a  strangely 
terrible  change  had  come  into  that  revered,  homely,  kindly 
face.  Its  smile  was  not  gone — not  altogether;  but  still 
showed  faintly  around  the  big,  tender  Irish  mouth.  But, 
ah,  the  dear,  red  hair  was  wet  with  mortal  sweat,  and  lay  in 
thin,  trailing  wisps  upon  a  brow  uncommonly  white. 

Yes,  Father  Pat  had  been  right;  the  bridges  made  for 
him  by  the  elderly  dentist  "who  needed  the  work"  were  to 
outlast  the  necessity  for  them.  And  the  big,  young,  broad- 
shouldered  soldier-priest  was  going  out  even  before  little, 
feeble,  old  Grandpa ! 

"Father  Pat !"  whispered  the  boy. 

The  green  eyes,  moving  more  slowly  than  was  their  wont, 
traveled  inquiringly  from  place  to  place  till  they  found 
their  object,  then  fixed  themselves  lovingly  upon  Johnnie's 
face.  Next,  out  stole  a  hand,  feebly  searching  for  an- 
other. 

"Little— golden— thing !" 

Ah,  how  hard  he  was  breathing!  "If  I  could  jus'  give 
him  my  breath  !"  thought  Johnnie ;  "  'r  my  lungs !"  He 
took  the  searching  hand,  but  turned  his  face  away.  There 
was  a  small,  round  table  beside  the  bed.  Upon  it  were 
some  flowers  in  a  glass,  a  prayer  book,  a  rosary,  a  goblet 
of  water,  a  fan.  Mechanically  he  counted  the  things — 


396          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

over  and  over.  He  was  dry-eyed.  He  felt  not  the  least 
desire  to  weep.  The  grief  he  was  enduring  was  too  poig- 
nant for  tears.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  slashed  from 
forehead  to  knees  with  a  sword. 

"I'm  not  actin'  like  a  scout,"  he  thought  suddenly. 
And  forced  himself  to  turn  again  to  that  friend  so  heart- 
rendingly  changed.  Then  aloud,  and  striving  to  speak 
evenly,  "Father  Pat,  y're  not  goin'  t'  die,  are  y'?  No, 
y're  not  goin'  t'  die !" 

He  felt  his  hand  pressed.  "Die?"  repeated  the  Father, 
and  Johnnie  saw  that  there  was  almost  a  playful  glint  in 
the  green  eyes.  "Shure,  scout  boy," — halting  with  each 
word — "dyin's  a  thing  we  all  come  t',  one  time  or  another. 
Ye  know,  ev'ry  year  manny  a  man  dies  that's  never  died 
before." 

'V  couldn't  have  y'  go,"  urged  the  boy.  "Oh,  Father 
Pat,  Cis,  she's  gone,  but  I  can  stand  it,  'cause  she's  happy. 
But  you — you — you — /"  Words  failed  him. 

"Lad  dear," — and  now  the  Father's  look  was  grave  and 
tender — "God's  will  be  done." 

"Oh,  yes !  I — I  know.  But,  oh,  Father  Pat,  promise 
me  that — that  y'  won't — go  -far!" 

"Ah!" — the  dimming  eyes  suddenly  swam  in  pity. 

"Jus'  t'  the  nearest  star,  Father  Pat !  Jus'  t'  the  near- 
est star!" 

"Little  star  lover !"  Then  after  a  pause  for  rest,  "John- 
nie, ye've  loved  Father  Pat  a  good  bit?" 

"Oh,  so  much !    So  much !" 

"And  I've  loved  the  little  poet — the  dreamer !  And  I've 
faith — in  him — as  I  go." 

Johnnie  knelt — yes,  the  same  Johnnie  who  had  always 
felt  so  shy  when  any  one  spoke  of  God,  or  prayer,  or  be- 
ing religious.  How  natural  the  act  of  kneeling  was,  now 
that  he  was  face  to  face  with  this  tragedy  which  no  earthly 
power  could  avert !  It  was  quite  as  the  Father  had  once 


ANOTHER  GOOD-BY  397 

predicted:  "Ah,  when  the  day  comes,  lad  dear,  that  ye 
feel  bad  enough,  when  grief  fair  strikes  ye  down,  and 
there's  nobody  can  help  ye  but  God,  then  ye'll  understand 
why  men  pray."  Well,  that  day  had  come.  Now  every- 
thing was  in  His  hands. 

Yet  Johnnie  could  not  shape  a  prayer — could  only  beg 
dumbly  for  help  as  he  clung  to  Father  Pat's  hand,  and 
laid  his  cheek  against  it. 

It  was  while  he  was  kneeling  that  he  saw,  entering  be- 
tween those  portieres,  some  one  dressed  in  white — a  woman. 
White  she  wore,  too,  upon  the  silky  white  of  her  hair. 
The  snowy  headdress  framed  a  face  pale,  but  beautiful, 
with  the  beauty  that  comes  from  service  and  self-sacrifice 
and  suffering. 

The  instant  Johnnie  glimpsed  that  face,  and  looked  into 
the  sad,  brave  eyes,  he  knew  her! — knew  her  though  she 
wore  no  red  cross  upon  her  sleeve.  Of  course,  among  all 
the  souls  in  the  great  universe,  she  would  be  the  one  to 
come  now,  just  when  he,  Johnnie,  needed  the  sight  of  her 
to  make  him  more  staunch! 

He  remembered  how  she  had  stood  before  the  firing- 
squad,  not  shrinking  from  her  fate,  not  crying  out  in  ter- 
ror of  the  cruel  bullets.  And  now  how  poised  she  was,  how 
fearless,  in  this  room  where  Death  was  waiting!  Awe- 
struck, adoring  her,  and  scarcely  daring  to  breathe  lest 
she  vanish,  he  got  slowly  to  his  feet. 

"Edith  Cavell !"  he  whispered. 

"Edith— Cavell !"  echoed  Father  Pat.  "  'Twas  her  dyin* 
— that  helped — manny " 

"It's  time  to  go,"  she  said  softly.  "Tell  the  Father 
good-by." 

Dutifully  he  turned  to  take  that  last  farewell.  But 
now  that  he  had  the  martyred  nurse  at  his  side,  he  deter- 
mined to  endure  the  parting  manfully.  He  knelt  again, 
and  tried  to  smile  at  the  face  smiling  back  at  him  from  the 


398          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

pillow.  He  tried  to  speak,  too,  but  his  lips  seemed  stiff,  for 
some  reason,  and  his  tongue  would  not  obey.  But  he  kept 
his  bright  head  up. 

He  heard  a  whisper — Father  Pat  was  commending  this 
scout  he  loved  to  the  mercy  of  a  higher  power.  Next,  he 
felt  himself  lifted  gently  and  guided  backward  from  the 
bed.  He  did  not  want  to  go.  He  wanted  to  keep  on  seeing, 
seeing  that  dear  face,  to  hold  on  longer  to  that  weak  hand. 
"Oh,  don't — don't  take  me!"  he  pleaded. 

The  dying  eyes  followed,  oh,  how  affectionately,  the 
small,  khaki-clad  figure.  "God's — own — child!"  breathed 
the  priest,  and  there  was  tender  pride  in  the  faint  tones. 
"God's— blessed— lad !" 

"Father!" 

Then  the  folds  of  the  portieres  brushed  Johnnie's  shoul- 
ders/ and  fell  between  his  eyes  and  the  wide,  white  bed. 

He  had  taken  his  last  look. 


He  was  nearly  home  when  he  discovered  the  letter — a 
thick  letter  in  a  long  envelope.  It  was  in  his  hand,  though 
he  could  not  remember  how  it  came  to  be  there.  But  it 
was  undoubtedly  his,  for  both  sides  of  it  bore  his  name  in 
Father  Pat's  own  handwriting :  John  Blake. 

He  did  not  open  it.  He  could  not  read  it  just  yet. 
Thrusting  it  into  a  coat  pocket,  he  stumbled  on.  Had  he 
complained  and  cried  just  because  Cis  was  to  live  in  an- 
other part  of  this  same  city?  Had  he  actually  thought 
the  loss  of  a  suit  and  some  books  enough  to  feel  bad  and 
bitter  about  ?  Was  it  he  who  had  said,  after  Cis  went,  that 
nothing  worse  could  happen? 

Ah,  how  small,  how  trivial,  all  other  troubles  seemed  as 
compared  to  this  new,  strange,  terrible  thing — Death! 
And  how  little,  before  this,  he  had  known  of  genuine  grief ! 


ANOTHER  GOOD-BY  399 

Now  something  really  grievous  had  happened.  And  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  his  whole  world  had  come  suddenly 
tumbling  down  in  pieces — in  utter  chaos — about  his  yellow 
head. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
THE  LETTER 

"  TT     AD  DEAR,  I  was  saying  to  myself  the  other  day, 

'Patrick  Mimgovan,  when  you  go  home  to  God, 

what  will  you  be  leaving — you  that  haven't  a  red 

cent  to  your  name — to  that  mite  of  a  boy,  John  ?'    'Well,' 

Patrick  Mungovan  answered  back,  'to  be  truthful,  I've 

nothing  to  leave  but  the  memory  of  a  sweet  friendship 

and,  maybe,  a  letter.' 

"go  down  I  sat,  and  started  this.  Just  at  the  beginning 
of  it,  where  it  can  help  to  ease  any  pain  in  your  heart,  let 
me  say  a  word  about  my  going,  for  I  want  you  to  be  happy 
always  when  you're  thinking  of  me.  So  believe  what  I 
say:  though  we  can't  sit  and  talk  together,  as  we  have, 
still  we'll  never  be  parted.  No !  For  the  reason  that  I'll 
live  on,  not  only  in  the  spirit,  but  also  in  that  fine  brain 
of  yours !  And  whenever  you'll  be  wanting  me,  you'll  think 
me  with  you,  and  there  I'll  be,  never  a  day  older,  never  a 
bit  less  red-headed,  or  dear  to  your  loving  eyes.  So ! 
We're  friends,  you  and  I,  as  long  as  memory  lasts ! 

"Lad  dear,  I  called  you  rich  once.  You  didn't  under- 
stand all  I  meant  by  it,  and  I'm  going  to  explain  myself 
here.  And  I'll  start  the  list  of  your  riches  with  this: 
though  you've  been  shut  in,  and  worked  hard,  and  fed  none 
too  well,  and  dressed  badly,  and  cheated  by  Tom  Barber 
out  of  the  smiles,  and  the  decent  words  of  praise,  and  the 
consideration  and  politeness  that's  every  child's  honest 
due — in  spite  of  all  this,  I  say,  you've  gone  right  on, 

400 


THE   LETTER  401 

ignoring  what  you  couldn't  help,  learning  what  you  could, 
improving  yourself,  preserving  your  sense  of  humor  (which 
is  the  power  to  see  what's  funny  in  everything) ,  and  never 
letting  your  young  heart  forget  to  sing. 

"  *But,'  you'll  ask,  'how  is  it  that  not  caring  too  much 
about  food  and  clothes  may  be  counted  as  a  valuable  pos- 
session?' And  I'll  answer,  'That  man  is  strong,  John, 
whose  appetite  is  his  servant,  not  his  master.  And  that 
man  is  stronger  yet  if,  wearing  ragged,  old  clothes,  all  the 
same  he  can  keep  his  pride  high.  For  "Is  not  the  life  more 
than  meat,  and  the  body  than  raiment  ?"  Well,  that's  how 
it's  been  with  you ! 

"Some  of  your  riches  consist  of  things  which  you  haven't 
got — now  that  sounds  strange,  does  it  not?  And  I  don't 
mean  the  scarlet  fever  which  you  haven't,  or  a  hair  lip,  or 
such  like.  No.  You're  rich  in  not  being  morbid,  fo^  in- 
stance,— in  not  dwelling  on  what's  unpleasant,  and  ugly. 
Also  because  you  don't  harbor  malice  and  ill-will.  Be- 
cause you  don't  fret,  and  sulk,  and  brood,  all  these  goings- 
on  being  a  sad  waste  of  time. 

"And  now  let's  count  over  the  riches  that  you've  got  in 
your  character.  In  the  back  of  your  Handbook,  Mr. 
Roosevelt,  writing  about  boy  scouts,  named  four  qualities 
for  a  fine  lad:  unselfish,  gentle,  strong,  brave.  They're 
your  qualities,  lad  dear.  And  you  proved  the  last  one 
when  you  took  that  whipping  with  the  ropes — ah,  is  a  boy 
poor  when  he's  got  the  spunk  in  him  ?  He  is  not !  Well, 
along  with  those  four  qualities  I  can  honestly  add  these 
others:  you're  grateful,  you're  clean  (in  heart  and  in 
mouth,  liking  and  speaking  what's  good),  you're  merciful, 
you're  truthful,  you're  ambitious,  you've  got  decent  in- 
stincts— inherited,  but  a  part  of  your  riches,  just  the 
same. 

"As  for  the  way  you  like  what  helps  you  (and  queer  as 
it  may  seem,  too  many  boys  don't  like  what  helps  them), 


402         THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

that  has  astonished  and  pleased  me  many  a  day.  I  re- 
member your  telling  me  once  that  you  got  tired  of  prunes 
and  potatoes.  And  I  said  to  you,  'Prunes  are  good  for 
you,  and  nothing  could  be  better  than  baked  potatoes,' — 
I  knowing  how  you  relished  them  mashed!  Well,  after 
that,  never  another  mashed  potato  dared  to  show  its  eyes ! 
And,  oh,  how  you  did  make  away  with  the  prunes ! 

"It's  the  good  things  you've  got  in  your  character,  and 
the  bad  things  that  you  haven't  got,  which  explain  how  it 
comes  that  you're  loved  the  way  you  are — by  Narcissa, 
and  Grandpa  (ah,  it's  handsome,  is  that  old  soldier's  love 
for  you!  it's  grand!),  and  Mrs.  Kukor,  and  the  Western 
gentleman,  and  Mr.  Perkins,  and  me !  With  so  much  love 
as  all  that,  could  you  ever  think  of  yourself  as  poor?  Now 
you  just  couldn't! 

"$.nd  then  consider  the  way  you  love  each  of  us  in  re- 
turn! And  no  lad  can  say  he's  poor  when  he's  got  the 
power  to  love  in  him!  and  the  sweet  sacrifice!  And  you 
know  the  kind  of  love  that  all  sound  young  hearts  give  to 
the  crippled  and  the  helpless  and  the  dumb.  Grandpa 
would  say  Yes  to  that  if  he  could.  And  so  would  the  spar- 
rows on  the  window  sill ! 

"But,  of  course,  we'll  not  be  forgetting  that  you've  got 
your  youth,  and  most  precious  it  is,  and  two  rows  of  teeth 
which  don't  need  bridging!  Also,  you're  as  good-looking 
as  any  boy  ought  to  be,  you're  improving  in  strength,  and 
you're  healthy.  Why,  there's  many  a  millionaire  who'd 
give  his  fortune  if  he  had  that  grand  little  tummy  of  yours, 
which  can  digest  the  knobs  off  the  doors ! 

"Already — at  twelve! — you've  got  the  habit  of  work, 
and,  oh,  what  a  blessing  that  habit  is,  and  what  an  insur- 
ance against  Satan !  And  you've  got  the  book  habit,  a 
glorious  one,  since  it  gives  you  information,  entertains  you, 
and  teaches  you  to  think,  to  argue  things  out  for  your- 
self. Yes,  it's  reading  which  makes  a  lad  strong  in  himself. 


THE    LETTER  403 

You  don't  need  racket,  and  the  company  of  other  lads, 
in  order  to  have  a  good  time.  And,  John,  you  know  how 
to  listen,  and  that's  uncommon,  too. 

"But  thinking  is  your  greatest  blessing.  You  get  your 
joy,  not  out  of  what  you  have,  for  God  in  His  wisdom 
knows  how  little  that  is,  but  out  of  what  you  thmk.  If 
there's  something  you  haven't,  you  go  ahead  and  supply 
it  with  your  thoughts,  creating  beauty  where  there  isn't 
any,  building  a  world  of  your  own.  Never  before  have  I 
met  a  lad  who  could  dream  as  you  can  dream.  Ah,  and 
what  it's  done  for  you — in  that  dark,  dirty,  little  flat ! 

"Dreams !  Behind  every  big  thing  that's  ever  happened 
was  a  dream !  The  Universe  itself  was  first  of  all  just  an 
idea  in  the  mind  of  Almighty  God.  In  His  wisdom  and 
love  He  left  it  to  man  to  work  out  other  plans  less  grand. 
And  who's  ever  been  great  that  didn't  dream  ?  First  ^ou 
dream  a  thing;  then  you  do  it.  Take  Samuel  Morse,  for 
instance.  He  had  a  wonderful  thought.  Next,  with  his 
telegraph,  he'd  constructed  the  nerves  of  the  world !  And 
there's  Mr.  Marconi.  Not  so  long  ago,  they'd  have  burned 
him  as  a  gentleman  witch ! 

"Imagination !  I've  no  doubt  you've  often  envied  Alad- 
din his  wonderful  lamp?  (They're  not  making  so  many 
of  those  lamps  these  days !)  But,  boy  dear,  every  lad's 
got  a  lamp  that's  just  as  wonderful !  The  lamp  of  knowl- 
edge. Get  knowledge,  John.  Then — rub  it  with  your 
imagination. 

"And  look  at  all  the  marvels  that  lie  about  you  waiting 
to  help!  The  books,  the  paintings,  the  schools,  the 
churches,  the  universities,  the  music,  the  museums,  the 
right  kind  of  plays — they're  all  right  here  in  New  York 
City.  Why,  lad  dear,  even  the  shops  are  an  education, 
with  their  rugs,  and  their  fine  weaves,  and  furniture,  and 
crystal,  and  china,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Think  of  hav- 


404          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ing  such  a  city  just  to  go  out  and  walk  around  in !  And 
you'll  not  cast  aside  a  single  opportunity! 

"So  what  of  your  future?  Here!  Take  Father  Pat's 
hand,  and  shut  your  eyes,  and  we'll  go  on  an  Aladdin  trip 
together,  this  to  see  what  became  of  certain  other  poor 
little  boys.  Here's  a  wonderful  office,  and  a  man  is  sitting 
at  his  desk.  He  heads  one  of  the  biggest  concerns  in  the 
world,  he's  cultured,  and  generous,  and  a  credit  to  his 
country.  Suppose  we  go  back  with  him  thirty  years.  Oh, 
look,  lad !  He's  selling  newspapers! 

"We're  off  again.  We're  in  a  room  that's  lofty  and 
grand.  And  looking  at  a  man  in  a  solemn  mantle.  He's 
high  in  our  nation's  counsels,  he's  honored,  and  known 
by  the  whole  world.  He's  a  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court 
of  the  United  States  of  America.  Let's  go  back  with  him 
thfTty  years.  Dear !  dear !  what  do  we  see !  A  poor,  little, 
tattered  youngster  who's  driving  home  the  cows ! 

"Ah,  Johnnie,  lads  don't  get  on  by  having  things  soft. 
Give  a  lad  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  it's  likely  you'll 
ruin  him.  Let  him  make  a  hundred  thousand,  honestly, 
and — you've  got  a  man! 

"Seldom  do  the  sons  of  rich  men  distinguish  themselves. 
Theodore  Roosevelt  did  (he  that  said,  'Don't  go  around; 
go  over — or  through').  And,  yes,  I  recall  another — that 
fine  gentleman  who  was  a  great  electrical  engineer,  Peter 
Cooper  Hewitt.  But  most  of  the  big  men  in  this  country 
were  poor  boys.  Having  to  struggle,  they  grew  strong. 

"For  instance,  there  were  the  Wright  brothers,  who 
turned  men  into  eagles !  Their  sister  was  called  'the  little 
schoolma'am  with  the  crazy  brothers !'  Robert  Burns,  the 
Scotch  poet,  was  the  son  of  a  laboring  man.  Charles 
Dickens  earned  money  by  sticking  labels  in  a  shoe-black- 
ing factory.  William  Shakespeare's  father  made  gloves. 
Benjamin  Franklin  was  the  son  of  a  candlemaker.  Daniel 
Defoe,  who  wrote  that  Robinson  Crusoe  you  love  so  much, 


THE    LETTER  405 

helped  his  father  around  the  butcher  shop.  John  Bunyan 
was  a  traveling  tinker.  And  Christopher  Columbus  was 
the  son  of  a  wool  comber,  and  himself  worked  before  the 
mast. 

"They're  gone,  but  their  thoughts  live  on,  as  busy  as 
ever,  whirling  about  us  like  the  rain  out  of  Heaven.  Each 
of  them  dreamed,  and  what  they  dreamed  is  our  heritage. 
When  such  men  pass,  we  must  have  lads  who  can  take  their 
places.  And  I  believe  that  you  are  one  of  these  lads.  For 
nobody  can  tell  me  that  the  power  you  have  of  seeing  things 
with  your  brain — things  you've  never  seen  with  your  eyes 
— won't  carry  you  far  and  high  among  your  fellowmen. 
And  some  day,  you'll  be  one  of  the  greatest  in  this  dear 
land.  And  it'll  be  told  of  you  how  you  lived  in  the  East 
Side,  in  a  scrap  of  a  flat,  where  you  were  like  a  prisoner, 
and  took  care  of  a  weak,  old  soldier,  and  did  your  dtfty, 
though  it  came  hard,  and  began  the  dreaming  of  your 
dreams. 

"Thinking  about  the  big  ones  that  won  out  against 
long  odds  will  help  you — will  give  you  the  grit  to  carry  on. 
And  grit  makes  a  good,  solid  foundation,  whether  it's  for 
a  house  or  a  lad.  And  when  you've  accomplished  the  most 
for  yourself,  then  I  know  you'll  remember  that  doing  for 
yourself  is  just  a  small  part  of  it;  the  other  part — the 
grand  part — is  what  you  can  do  for  your  fellowmen. 

"There's  a  true  saying  that  'God  helps  them  who  help 
themselves.'  But,  suppose  you  lived  where  it  wasn't  pos- 
sible for  you  to  help  yourself?  And  there  are  countries 
just  like  that.  But  here,  in  the  United  States,  you  can 
help  yourself!  Ah,  that's  a  great  blessing,  my  yellow- 
head!  Oh,  Johnnie,  was  there  ever  a  land  like  this  one 
before?  Boy  dear,  this  United  States,  this  is  the  Land  of 
Aladdin ! 

"Young  friend,  as  I  close  I  want  to  thank  you  for  what 
you've  done  for  a  smashed-up  priest — gladdened  his  last 


406          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

days  with  the  sight  of  a  grand  lad,  a  good  scout.  And 
I've  got  just  a  single  warning  for  you,  and  it's  this: 
Watch  your  play !  For  it's  not  by  the  work  that  a  man 
does  that  you  can  judge  him.  No  ;  I'll  tell  you  what  a  man 
is  like  if  you'll  tell  me  how  he  plays. 

"One  thing  more :  do  you  rememher  the  vow  the  knights 
used  to  take  in  the  old  days  ? — 'live  pure,  speak  true,  right 
wrong,  follow  the  king.'  Father  Pat  knows  he  can  trust 
John  Blake  to  keep  that  vow.  And  his  last  wish,  and  his 
dying  prayer  is,  O  little,  little  lad,  that  you  put  your  trust 
in  God — just  that,  and  everything  else  will  come  right  for 
you — put  your  trust  in  God. 

"PATRICK  MUNGOVAN." 

Thus  it  ended.  There  tHe  hand  of  that  faithful  friend 
had 'stopped.  But  below  the  name,  separated  from  it  and 
the  body  of  the  letter,  was  a  short  paragraph  which  was 
a  prayer: 

"I  entreat  the  Saints  to  watch  over  him,  to  guard  him 
and  keep  him  all  the  days  of  his  life,  and  when  that  life  is 
ended,  to  bring  him  in  joyful  safety  to  the  feet  of  Almighty 
God." 


CHAPTER  XL 
"THE  TRUE  WAY" 

JOHNNIE  went  through  his  regular  duties  in  the  flat, 
but  he  went  through  them  in  a  daze.  Whenever  his 
work  was  done,  he  sat  down.  Then,  his  body  quiet, 
his  brain  registered  sounds — a  far-off  voice,  the  slam  of  a 
door,  the  creak  of  the  stairs,  whistles,  bells.  But  his 
thoughts  fixed  themselves  upon  nothing.  Aimlessly  they 
moved  from  one  idea  to  another,  yet  got  nowhere,  like  chips 
on  currentless  water.  If  he  remembered  about  Father 
Pat,  that  memory  was  dull — so  dull  that  he  could  not  re- 
call the  Father's  face;  and  he  did  not  even  dream  about 
him  at  night.  He  endured  no  suffering.  As  for  his  tears, 
they  seemed  to  have  dried  up. 

The  truth  was  that,  within  the  last  week,  he  had  had  a 
great  deal  too  much  to  bear,  and  was  all  but  prostrated 
from  shock.  When  that  condition  bettered,  and  he  began 
to  feel  again,  he  was  nervous  and  jumpy.  In  the  night, 
the  drip  of  a  faucet,  or  the  snap  of  a  board,  would  set  his 
heart  to  bounding  sickeningly.  And,  even  by  day,  every 
little  while  his  body  would  shake  inside  that  new  uniform. 

No  Father  Pat  left  in  the  world !  The  realization  came 
next,  and  with  it  a  suffocating  sense  of  loss.  His  friend 
was  gone,  i.ever  to  return,  just  as  Johnnie's  father  and 
mother  were  gone,  just  as  Aunt  Sophie  was  gone.  From 
the  cupboard  shelf  he  took  down  that  bowl  of  rose  leaves, 
and  pondered  over  them.  "Roses  die,"  he  told  himself, 
"and  people  die."  There  was  an  end  to  everything. 

407 


408          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"A  dove,"  Cis  had  told  him  once,  "if  its  feathers  're  all 
pulled  out,  or  it's  got  a  lead  shot  in  its  breast,  just  the 
same  it  doesn't  make  a  sound.  It  stands  the  pain."  And 
that  was  how  it  was  with  Johnnie.  He  was  wounded — 
sorely;  but  with  quiet  resignation  he  bore  his  anguish. 

He  began  to  do  things  outside  his  daily  round  of  tasks. 
This  followed  a  second  reading  of  the  letter,  a  reading 
which  soothed  and  strengthened  him,  made  him  resolute, 
and  awakened  his  habit  of  work.  His  first  extra  pro- 
ceeding was  the  burning  of  the  old,  big  clothes,  by  which 
he  addeo!  their  ashes  to  ashes  far  dearer;  his  second  was 
the  presenting  of  Edwarda  to  the  little  fire  escape  girl  with 
the  dark  hair. 

The  new  doll  concealed  in  a  pillowcase  (he  could  not 
bear  to  crumple  and  tear  for  his  purpose  that  precious 
marriage  newspaper),  he  made  his  way  to  the  door  of  the 
little  girl's  home.  "This  is  yours,"  he  told  her,  stripping 
off  the  case  and  holding  out  the  gift.  She  heard  him,  but 
looked  only  at  Edwarda.  "Gratzia!"  she  gasped,  seizing 
the  doll  in  both  hands.  He  lifted  the  scout  hat,  faced 
about,  and  marched  home. 

He  found  that  he  did  not  want  to  read  anything  but 
the  letter — that  he  could  not  concentrate  on  story  or  star 
book.  But  he  did  not  sit  and  tug  at  his  hair.  Action — 
he  fairly  craved  it.  And  continued  those  out-of-the-ordi- 
nary  jobs.  The  cupboard  shelves  had  not  been  cleaned 
this  long  time.  He  scrubbed  them,  and  turned  Cis's  fanci- 
fully scissored  shelf-papers.  He  washed  the  chairs,  in- 
cluding the  wheeled  one. 

Each  day,  he  worked  till  dark,  then  went  to  the  roof. 
There,  as  he  walked  about,  taking  the  air,  he  invariably 
thought  about  Cis.  But  that  thought  did  not  make  him 
unhappy.  She  did  not  seem  farther  away  than  the  Fifth' 
Avenue  bookstore,  or  Madison  Square  Garden.  And  he 


"THE  TRUE  WAY"  409 

amused  himself  by  trying  to  pick  out  the  very  roof  under 
which  she  was,  among  all  the  roofs  that  stretched  away 
and  away  toward  the  west  and  the  north. 

Soon  he  was  down  in  the  flat  again,  because  he  was 
physically  tired,  and  ready  for  sleep.  However,  long  be- 
fore dawn  he  was  awake  once  more,  and  watching  the 
small,  dark,  ticking  thing  which  was  the  clock  he  had  for- 
merly hated.  Now  of  a  morning  it  did  not  tick  fast  enough 
to  suit  him !  When  the  light  crept  in,  up  he  got,  brushed 
his  teeth  and  his  uniform,  took  his  bath  and  his  exercises, 
dressed,  and  had  a  few  minutes  of  outdoors  across  the 
window  sill,  where  he  re-read  his  letter,  and  remembered 
to  be  glad  that  he  was  living  in  the  Land  of  Aladdin. 

After  that  he  ate  an  extra  large  helping  of  prunes,  and 
put  potatoes  into  the  oven  to  bake.  Then  came  good  turns 
— Grandpa,  Big  Tom,  the  sparrows,  and,  yes,  even  Letltia, 
whose  clothes  he  washed  and  ironed  and  mended.  On  the 
heels  of  the  good  turns,  work  again.  "Lads  don't  get  on 
by  having  things  soft,"  and  he  would  not  live  one  soft 
day. 

Thus,  by  degrees,  he  put  together  his  shattered  world. 

One  afternoon,  as  he  sat  stringing  beads,  he  heard  a 
familiar  rap.  Before  he  could  reach  the  hall  door,  it 
opened,  and  there  stood  Mr.  Perkins,  looking  happy,  yet 
grave.  He  entered  on  tiptoe.  He  spoke  low,  as  if  not  to 
disturb  Big  Tom. 

"How  are  you,  Johnnie?"  holding  out  an  eager  hand. 

"I'm  all  right." 

"Narcissa  sends  her  love." 

How  modest  Mr.  Perkins  was ! — he,  the  strongest  man, 
almost,  in  the  whole  world !  And  how  he  lighted,  and  filled, 
the  room!  New  life  and  hope  and  interest  surged  into 
Johnnie  at  the  mere  sight  of  him. 

Mr.  Perkins  spoke  of  Father  Pat.     "We  came  the  mo- 


410          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

ment  we  heard,"  he  explained.  "The  account  of  his  death 
was  in  the  papers."  He  had  a  newspaper  with  him,  and 
spread  it  out  upon  the  table.  "The  Father  gave  his  life 
for  his  country,"  he  added  proudly,  "so  they  gave  him  a 
military  funeral.  It's  told  about  right  here.  Would  you 
like — that  is,  could  you  bear  to  read  about  it  ?" 

Johnnie  could  not ;  instead,  he  opened  the  drawer  of  the 
table  and  slipped  the  paper  out  of  sight  along  with  that 
other  one — and  the  tooth. 

"But  you'll  want  to  wear  this  in  mourning  for  him," 
went  on  the  scoutmaster.  Now  out  of  a  pocket  he  took  a 
wide,  black,  gauzy  band.  "On  your  left  sleeve,  Johnnie." 
And  he  pinned  the  band  in  place. 

It  was  Johnnie's  turn  to  be  proud.  "It'll  show  'em  all 
that  he  belonged  t'  me,"  he  said. 

VHedid!    He  did!" 

The  letter  came  next.  Mr.  Perkins  took  it  to  the  win- 
dow to  read  it.  "I'll  get  you  a  blank  book,"  he  announced 
when  he  came  back,  "and  we'll  paste  the  letter  into  it  care- 
fully, so  that  you  can  keep  it  always.  And  that  book 
will  be  your  best,  Johnnie.  Say,  but  that's  a  letter  to 
treasure !" 

"And  there  was  somethin'  else  wonderful  happened," 
the  boy  declared.  And  told  about  Edith  Cavell.  "She 
was  jus'  like  she  was  alive!  All  in  white.  And  white  hair. 
Only  I  couldn't  see  where  she'd  been  hit  by  the  bullets." 

"No,  dear  old  fellow,"  returned  Mr.  Perkins.  "That 
wasn't  Edith  Cavell.  That  was  the  trained  nurse,  or 
maybe  a  Sister  of  Mercy — anyhow,  some  one  who  was 
waiting  on  the  Father." 

"Oh!"  To  recall  that  which  had  moved  and  grieved 
and  shocked  made  Johnnie's  face  so  white  that  those  fad- 
ing marks  showed  plainly  upon  it.  And  there  was  a  look 
of  pain  and  strain  in  the  gray  eyes. 


"THE  TRUE  WAY"  411 

"I'm  afraid  you've  been  alone  too  much,"  said  the  scout- 
master anxiously. 

"Maybe.  Still,  y'  remember,  Robinson  Crusoe,  he  was, 
too,  for  a  long  time,  but  it  all  turned  out  fine  for  him." 

"Things  are  turning  out  better  for  you  right  now,"  as- 
serted Mr.  Perkins.  "To  begin  with,  Narcissa  and  I  have 
worked  out  a  plan  that  will  make  it  possible  for  you  to 
leave  here  to-morrow." 

"Leave?"  But  Johnnie  did  not  yet  comprehend  what 
the  other  meant. 

"Yes,  for  good  and  all,"  added  the  scoutmaster.  "Go 
away — just  as  Narcissa  has  gone — to  stay." 

Johnnie  wavered  to  his  feet  dizzily.  "Me — go,"  he  re- 
peated. "Away — to  stay"  Then  as  the  full  meaning  of 
it  swept  over  him,  "Oh,  Mister  Perkins  !  Oh!  Oh!"  That 
old,  dear  dream  of  his — to  put  behind  him  the  ugly,  enrjty, 
sunless  flat:  the  tiring,  hateful,  girl's  work:  the  fear,  the 
mortification,  the  abuse,  the  wounded  pride,  and,  yes,  Big 
Tom:  to  go,  and  stay  away,  never,  never  coming  back — 
that  dream  had  suddenly  come  true ! 

Leaning  on  the  table,  weak  from  the  very  excitement 
and  joy  of  it,  slowly  he  looked  around  the  kitchen.  "My !" 
he  breathed.  "My!" 

"The  Carnegie  money  is  ready  for  you  now,"  Mr.  Per- 
kins went  on.  "I  went  to  Pittsburgh  to  see  about  it." 

"It  is  ?  Father  Pat,  he  says  in  the  letter  that  I'm  rich. 
But  he  didn't  count  in  that  Carnegie  money  at  all." 

"You  can  go  to  a  good  school,"  continued  the  scout- 
master; "and  have  the  books  and  clothes  that  you  need. 
Before  school  starts,  there's  the  country — you  ought  to 
go  into  it  for  a  few  weeks,  then  to  the  seashore.  Of  course, 
when  vacation  is  over,  Narcissa  and  I  want  you  to  live 
with  us.  There's  a  room  all  ready  for  you. — Johnnie, 
you're  holding  your  breath!  Don't!  It  isn't  good  for 
you." 


412          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

Half-laughing,  half-crying,  Johnnie  bent  his  head  to 
the  table.  "Oh,  gee!"  he  gasped.  "School!  And  new 
books !  And  the  country !  And  the  beach !  And  then 
with  both  of  you !  And  my  own  room!" 

"And  a  bed— not  the  floor." 

Johnnie  was  seeing  it  all.  But  particularly  was  the 
vision  of  his  new  home  clear  to  him.  "I'll  take  my  father's 
medal  with  me,  too,"  he  declared ;  "and  Mister  Roosevelt's 
pitcher.  Oh,  it's  goin'  t'  be  fine!  Fine!  And  I'll  be 
ready,  Mister  Perkins  !  I'll  be  ready  earl " 

Tap!  tap!  tap!  tap! 

He  straightened ;  and  stood  as  rigid  as  a  little  statue ; 
and  once  more  he  held  his  breath.  While  the  flushed  and 
happy  look  on  his  face  faded — faded  as  did  his  vision 
of  peace  and  happiness  and  luxury.  He  stared  wide-eyed 
at  rMr.  Perkins,  questioning  him  dumbly,  pathetically. 
Then  every  atom  of  strength  began  to  leave  him.  It  went 
out  of  his  ankles,  under  those  smart  and  soldierly  leggings ; 
and  out  of  his  knees.  Slowly,  and  with  a  wobble,  he  sank 
into  his  chair. 

Old  Grandpa! 

Now  another  picture :  the  dark,  little,  dismal  flat,  locked 
from  the  outside,  deserted  within ;  on  the  kitchen  table, 
where  Big  Tom's  breakfast  dishes  are  strewn  about,  is 
the  milk  bottle  and  a  cup ;  the  beds  are  unmade,  the  sink 
piled  high,  and  circling  the  unswept  floor  wheels  Grandpa, 
whimpering,  calling  softly  and  pleadingly,  "Johnnie !  Lit- 
tle Johnnie!  Grandpa  wants  Johnnie!"  And  tears  are 
dimming  the  pale,  old  eyes,  and  trickling  down  into  the 
thin,  white  beard. 

"Oh !"  breathed  the  boy.  Old  Grandpa  forsaken !  He, 
so  dear,  so  helpless !  Old  Grandpa,  who  depended  upon 
his  Johnnie!  And — what  of  that  "kind  of  love  that  all 
sound  young  hearts  give  to  the  crippled  and  the  help- 
less?" 


"THE  TRUE   WAY"  413 

He  began  to  whisper,  hastily,  huskily:  "That  time  I 
run  away  and  met  One-Eye,  I  felt  pretty  bad  when  I  was 
layin'  awake  in  the  horse  stall — so  bad  I  hurt,  all  inside 
me.  And  in  the  night  I  'most  cried  about  Grandpa,  and 
how  he  was  missin'  me." 

"I  see." 

"And,  oh,  Mister  Perkins,  that  was  before  I  knew  any- 
thing about  scouts.  But,  now,  I  am  one,  ain't  I?  And  so 
I  got  t'  act  like  a  scout.  And  a  scout,  would  he  go  'way 
and  leave  a'  old  soldier?  I  got  t'  think  about  that."  He 
began  to  walk.  Presently,  he  halted  at  the  door  of  the 
tiny  room,  and  looked  in,  then  came  tiptoeing  back.  "He's 
in  there,"  he  explained.  "He  went  in  t'  see  if  Cis  wasn't 
home  yet,  and  he  fell  asleep.  He  misses  her  a  lot,  and  she 
wasn't  here  much  when  he  was  awake.  But  that  jus' 
shows  how  he'd  miss  me."  « 

Before  the  scoutmaster  could  reply,  Johnnie  went  on 
again:  "I'm  thinkin'  ahead,  the  same  way  I  think  my 
thinks.  When  y're  ahead,  why,  y'  can  look  back,  can't  y'  ? 
— awful  easy!  Well,  I'm  lookin'  back,  and  I  can  see 
Grandpa  alone  here.  And  it's  a'  awful  mean  thing  t'  see, 
Mister  Perkins — gee,  it  is !  And  I'd  be  seein'  it  straight 
right  on  for  the  rest  of  my  life !" 

"But  I  wouldn't  have  old  Grandpa  left  alone  here," 
protested  Mr.  Perkins.  "You  see,  there  are  institutions 
where  they  take  the  best  care  of  old  people — trained  care, 
and  suitable  food,  and  the  attention  of  first-class  doctors. 
In  such  places,  many  old  gentlemen  stay." 

"But  Grandpa,  would  he  know  any  of  the  other  old  gen- 
tlemen?" 

"He  would  soon." 

Johnnie  shook  his  Head.  "He'd  feel  pretty  ba'd  if  he 
didn't  have  me." 

"You  could  go  to  see  him  often." 


414          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

"He'd  cry  after  me!"  urged  Johnnie.  "And  go  'round 
and  'round  in  circles.  Y'  see,  he's  used  t*  me,  and  if  I 
was  t'  let  him  go  t'  that  place,  he'd  miss  me  so  bad  he'd 
die!" 

Mr.  Perkins  looked  grave.  "Narcissa  and  I  would  be 
only  too  glad  to  have  him  with  us,"  he  said,  "but  his  son 
wouldn't  let  us." 

"Big  Tom  wouldn't  let  Grandpa  go  away  nowheres,'? 
asserted  Johnnie.  "I'm  sure  o'  that.  Why,  Grandpa's 
the  only  person  Big  Tom  cares  a  snap  about!  And  if 
Grandpa  stays  here,  and  Big  Tom's  sure  t'  keep  him,  why, 
o'  course,  he  can't  stay — alone."  He  paused ;  then,  "No, 
he  can't  stay  alone."  Perhaps  never  again  in  all  his  life 
would  he  meet  a  temptation  so  strong  as  this  one — as  hard 
to  resist.  "My!  what'll  I  do?"  he  asked.  "What'll  I 
do?" 

"You  must  decide  for  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Perkins.  How 
he  felt,  Johnnie  could  not  tell.  The  face  of  the  scout- 
master was  in  the  shadow,  and  chiefly  he  seemed  taken  up 
with  the  polishing  of  his  pince-nez. 

"Y5  know,  I  thank  y'  awful  much,"  Johnnie  declared, 
"for  plannin'  out  'bout  me  goin'  and — and  so  on." 

"You're  as  welcome  as  can  be!" 

Johnnie  drew  those  yellow  brows  together.  "I  wonder 
what  Mrs.  Kukor  would  think  I  ought  t'  do,"  he  continued. 
"And — and  what  would  Mister  Roosevelt  do  if  he  was  me? 
And  that  boss  of  all  the  Boy  Scouts — : — " 

"General  Sir  Baden-Powell." 

"Yes,  him.  What  would  he  think  about  it,  I  wonder? 
And  then  Edith  Cavell,  what  would  she  say?" 

Mr.  Perkins  went  on  with  his  polishing. 

"Father  Pat,  he  said  somethin'  once  t'  me  about  the 
way  y'  got  t'  act  if  y'  ever  want  t'  be  happy  later  on,  and 
have  folks  like  y'.  Oh,  if  only  the  Father  was  alive,  and 


"THE   TRUE  WAY"  415 

knew  about  it !  But  maybe  he  does  know !  but  if  he  don't, 
anyhow  God  does,  'cause  God  knows  ev'rything,  whether 
y*  want  Him  to  or  not.  My !  I  wouldn't  like  t'  have  God 
turn  against  me !  I'd — I'd  like  t'  please  God." 

Still  the  scoutmaster  was  silent. 

"You  heard  about  my  father,  didn't  y%  Mister  Per- 
kins ?"  Johnnie  asked  presently.  "He  wouldn't  be  saved  if 
my  mother  couldn't  be,  and  jus'  stayed  on  the  ice  with 

her,  and  held  her  fast  in  his  arms  till — till "  How 

clearly  he  could  see  it  all ! — his  father,  his  feet  braced  upon 
the  whirling  cake,  with  that  frailer  body  in  his  arms,  drift- 
ing, drifting,  swift  and  sure,  toward  destruction,  but  going 
to  his  death  with  a  wave  of  the  hand.  His  father  had  laid 
down  his  life ;  but  his  son  would  have  to  lay  down  only  a 
small  part  of  his. 

"It  didn't  take  my  father  long  t'  make  up  his  mind 
about  somethin'  hard,"  Johnnie  said  proudly. 

"No." 

"Well,  then,  bein'  his  boy,  I'd  like  t'  act  as — as  fine  as 
I  can." 

He  pressed  his  lips  tight  together.  He  still  felt  his  lot 
a  bitter  one  in  the  flat ;  he  still  yearned  to  get  away.  But 
during  these  last  few  months  a  change  had  come  over  him 
— in  his  hopes,  his  aspirations,  his  thinks — a  change  fully 
as  great  as  the  change  in  his  outward  appearance.  In  a 
way,  he  had  been  made  over,  soul  as  well  as  body,  that  by 
taking  in,  by  a  sort  of  soaking  process,  certain  ideas — of 
honor,  duty,  self-respect,  unselfishness,  courage,  chivalry. 
And  whereas  once  his  whole  thought  had  been  to  go,  go,  go, 
now  he  knew  that  those  certain  ideas  were  much  more  im- 
portant than  going.  Also,  there  were  the  Laws.  One  of 
these  came  into  his  mind  now — the  first  one.  It  came  in 
a  line  of  black  letters  which  seemed  to  be  suspended  in 


416         THE    RICH   LITTLE    POOR   BOY 

the  air  between  him  and  Mr.  Perkins:  A  scout  is  trust- 
worthy. 

The  moment  he  saw  that  line  he  understood  what  he 
would  do.  This  new-old  tempting  dream,  he  would  give  it 
up. 

"Mister  Perkins,"  he  began  again,  "I  can't  go  'way  and 
leave  old  Grandpa  here  alone.  I'm  goin'  t*  stay  with  him 
till  he  dies,  jus'  like  my  father  stayed  with  my  mother. 
Yes,  I  must  keep  with  Grandpa.  He's  a  cripple,  and  he's 
old,  and — he's  a  baby."  His  jaw  set  resolutely. 

And  then — having  decided — what  a  marvelous  feeling 
instantly  possessed  him !  What  peace  he  felt !  What  hap- 
piness !  What  triumph !  He  seemed  even  taller  than  usual ! 
And  lighter  on  his  feet!  And,  oh,  the  strength  in  his 
backbone!  in  those  lead-pipe  legs!  (Though  he  did  not 
knofr  it,  that  look  which  was  all  light  was  on  his  face,  while 
his  mouth  was  turned  up  at  both  ends  like  the  ends  of  the 
Boy  Scout  scroll.) 

"I'm  not  terrible  bad  off  here  no  more,"  he  went  on.  "I 
got  this  suit,  and  my  books,  and  One-Eye's  quart  o'  milk. 
Also,  Mrs.  Kukor,  she'll  be  back  'fore  long,  and  you'll  bring 
Cis  home  t'  see  me,  won't  y'?" 

"I  will." 

"Things'll  be  all  right.  Evenin's,  I'm  goin*  t'  night 
school,  like  Mister  Maloney  said.  And  all  the  time,  while 
I'm  learnin',  and  watchin'  out  for  Grandpa,  why,  I'll  be 
growin'  up — nobody  can  stop  me  doin'  that" 

Tap!  tap!  tap!  tap! — the  wheel  chair  was  backing  into 
sight  at  the  door  of  the  tiny  room. 

Johnnie  began  to  whisper:  "Don't  speak  'bout  Cis,  will 
y'?  It'd  make  him  cry." 

Grandpa  heard  the  whispering.  He  looked  round  over 
a  shoulder,  his  pale  eyes  searching  the  half-dark  kitchen. 
"Johnnie,  what's  the  matter?"  he  asked,  as  if  fearful. 
"What's  the  matter?" 


"THE  TRUE  WAY"  417 

Johnnie  went  to  him,  walking  with  something  of  a  swag- 
ger. "Nothin's  the  matter !"  he  declared  stoutly.  "What 
y'  talkin'  'bout  ?  Ev'rything's  fine !  Jus'  fine!" 

The  frightened  look  went  out  of  the  peering,  old  eyes. 
Grandpa  broke  into  his  thin,  cackling  laugh.  "Every- 
thing's fine  !"  he  cried.  He  shook  a  proud  head.  "Every- 
thing's fine!" 

Johnnie  pulled  the  chair  over  the  sill,  this  with  some- 
thing of  a  flourish.  Then,  facing  it  about,  "Here's  Mister 
Perkins  come  t'  see  y',"  he  announced,  and  sent  the  chair 
rolling  gayly  to  the  middle  of  the  room,  while  Grandpa 
shouted  as  gleefully  as  a  child,  and  swayed  himself  against 
the  strand  of  rope  that  held  him  in  place. 

"Niaggery!    Niaggery!"  he  begged. 

"Sh !  sh !     Mister  Barber's  asleep !" 

"Sh !  sh !"  echoed  the  old  man.  "Tommie's  asleep ! 
Tommie's  asleep!  Tommie's  asleep!  That's  what  I  al- 
ways say  to  mother.  Tommie's  asleep!" 

Johnnie  came  to  the  wheel  chair.  Then,  for  the  first 
time  in  all  the  years  he  had  spent  in  the  flat,  the  tender 
love  he  felt  for  Grandpa  fairly  pulled  his  young  arms 
about  those  stooped  old  shoulders ;  and  he  dropped  his 
yellow  head  till  it  touched  the  white  one.  Tears  were  in 
his  eyes,  but  somehow  he  was  not  ashamed  of  them. 

Grandpa,  mildly  startled  by  the  unprecedented  hug,  and 
the  feel  of  that  tousled  head  against  his,  stared  for  a 
moment  like  a  surprised  infant.  Then  out  went  his  arms, 
hunting  Johnnie ;  and  the  simple  old  man,  and  the  boy  who 
loved  him  past  a  great  temptation,  clung  together  for  a 
long  moment. 

If  there  are  occasions,  as  Father  Pat  and  Mr.  Perkins 
had  once  agreed  there  were,  when  it  was  proper  for  a  good 
scout  to  cry,  Johnnie  now  understood  that  there  are  occa- 
sions when  good  scoutmasters  may  also  give  way  to  their 


418          THE    RICH    LITTLE    POOR    BOY 

feelings.  For  without  a  doubt,  Mr.  Perkins,  grown  man 
and  fighter  though  he  was  (and  a  husband  to  boot!),  was 
weeping — and  grinning  with  all  his  might  as  he  wept !  It 
was  a  proud  grin.  It  set  all  his  teeth  to  flashing,  and  lifted 
his  red-brown  cheeks  so  high  that  his  pince-nez  was  dis- 
lodged, and  went  swinging  down  to  tinkle  merrily  against 
a  button  of  his  coat ;  and  his  brimming  eyes  were  proud  as 
he  fixed  them  upon  Johnnie. 

"Great  old  scout!"  he  said. 

When  Grandpa  had  had  a  glass  of  milk,  and  been 
trundled  gently  to  and  fro  a  few  times,  Johnnie  stowed 
him  away  near  the  window.  "He  ain't  much  trouble,  is 
he  ?"  he  asked,  carefully  tucking  the  feeble  old  hands  under 
the  cover.  He  nodded  at  the  sleeping  veteran,  sunk  far 
down  into  his  blanket,  his  white  head,  with  its  few  strag- 
gling- hairs,  tipped  sidewise  against  the  tangled,  brown 
head  of  Letitia. 

"No,"  answered  Mr.  Perkins.  "And  you're  going  to  be 
glad,  Johnnie,  when  the  day  comes  that  Grandpa  closes 
his  eyes  for  the  last  time,  that  you  decided  to  do  your 
duty.  And  you'll  never  have  anything  selfish  or  sad  or 
mean  to  try  to  forget."  He  held  out  his  hand  and  gave 
Johnnie's  fingers  a  good  grip. 

With  Mr.  Perkins  gone  home  to  Cis,  Johnnie  stayed 
beside  the  wheel  chair.  Those  yellow-gray  eyes  were  still 
burning  with  earnestness,  and  the  bright  head,  haloed  by 
its  hair,  was  held  high.  Dusk  had  deepened  into  dark. 
As  he  looked  into  the  shadows  by  the  hall  door,  he  seemed 
to  see  a  face — his  father's.  A  moment,  and  he  saw  the 
whole  figure,  as  if  it  had  entered  from  the  hall.  It  was 
supporting  that  other,  and  more  slender,  figure. 

"I'm  your  son,"  he  told  them.  "I'm  twelve,  and  I  know 
what  y'  both  want  t'  see  me  do.  It's  stick  t'  my  job.  It'll 
be  awful  hard  sometimes,  and  I'll  hate  it.  But  I'm  goin' 
t'  try  t'  be  jus*  as  brave  as  you  was." 


"THE  TRUE  WAY"  419 

It  seemed  to  him  that  his  father  smiled  then — a  pleased, 
proud  smile. 

At  that,  Johnnie  straightened,  his  heels  came  together, 
and  he  brought  his  left  arm  rigidly  to  hia  side.  Then  he 
lifted  his  right  to  his  forehead — in  the  scout  salute. 


THE    END 


Novels  for  Cheerful  Entertainment 


GALUSHA  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln 
Author  of  "Shapings,"  "The  Portygee,"  etc. 

The  whole  family  will  laugh  over  this  deliciously  humorous  novel,  that 
pictures  the  sunny  side  of  small-town  life,  and  contains  love-making, 
a  dash  of  mystery,  an  epidemic  of  spook-chasing — and  laughable, 
lovable  Galusha. 

THESE   YOUNG  REBELS 

By  Frances  R.  Sterrett 
Author  of  "  Nancy  Coet  to  Town,"  "  Up  the  Road  wth  Sally,"  etc. 

A  sprightly  novel  that  hits  off  to  perfection  the  present  antagonism 
between  the  rebellious  younger  generation  and  their  disapproving  elders. 

PLAY  THE  GAME 

By  Ruth  Comfort  Mitchell 

A  happy  story  about  American  young  people.  The  appealing  qualities 
of  a  brave  young  girl  stand  out  in  the  strife  between  two  young  fellows, 
the  one  by  fair  the  other  by  foul  means,  to  win  her. 

IN  BLESSED  CYRUS 

By  Laura  E.  Richards 
Author  of  "A  Daughter  of  Jehu,"  etc. 

The  quaint,  quiet  village  of  Cyrus,  with  its  whimsical  villagers,  is  abruptly 
turned  topsy-turvy  by  the  arrival  in  its  midst  of  an  actress,  distractingly 
feminine,  Lila  Laughter;  and,  at  the  same  time,  an  epidemic  of  small-pox. 

HELEN   OF  THE   OLD   HOUSE 

By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

Wright's  greatest  novel,  that  presents  the  life  of  industry  to-day,  the 
laughter,  the  tears,  the  strivings  of  those  who  live  about  the  smoky 
chimneys  of  an  American  industrial  town. 

NEW  YORK  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY  LONDON 

T700 


Splendid  Books  for  Girls 


THE  POOR  LITTLE  RICH   GIRL 

By  Eleanor  Gates 

This  famous  story  is  full  of  fancy  and  beauty.  It  tells  how  littl 
Gwendolyn  found  the  childhood  happiness  that  she  was  denied  as  i 
rich  little  girl. 

GEORGINA  OF  THE  RAINBOWS 

By  Annie  Fellows  Johnston 

Georgina  is  a  delicate-minded,  inquisitive  child  who  has  amusing  fancie 
and  a  delightful  way  with  grownups. 

GEORGINA'S   SERVICE   STARS 

By  Annie  Fellows  Johnston 

The  girlhood  of  Georgina,  when  boarding  school,  dances,  and  romano 
among  her  girl  friends,  culminate  in  her  own  pretty  story. 

EMMY  LOU'S  ROAD  TO   GRACE 

By  George  Madden  Martin 

Emmy  Lou  might  forget  her  prayers,  spread  whooping-cough,  atten< 
the  circus  instead  of  the  Sunday  School  picnic,  yet  she  remained  a  chile 
who  goes  straight  to  the  reader's  heart. 

MARY  ROSE  OF   MIFFLIN 

By  Frances  R.  Sterrett 

What  Mary  Rose  found  in  the  way  of  nice  folks  when  she  came  ti 
live  in  the  stiff  and  formal  city  apartment  house. 

MARY-'GUSTA 

By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln 

A  humorous  and  human  story  of  a  little  girl  who  mothers  her  two  Cap< 
Cod  guardians,  a  bachelor  and  a  widower,  in  spite  of  all  their  attempt; 
to  bring  her  up. 

These  Are  Appleton  Books 

T702 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

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